


Field of White Chrysanthemum

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Canon Compliant, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-12 07:42:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7926331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During an infiltration to one of Talon’s headquarter, Overwatch found the remnants of a secret project, and that the experiment was done to Genji Shimada's estranged brother. As the rest of the team tries to figure out if this experiment bodes bad news for them,  Jesse McCree found himself facing a figure from a bittersweet past.</p><p>In which 10 years prior to the Recall, Jesse McCree found love, lost it, and found it again only to realize that the world is indeed small and it's not always fair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alright so before you read, i’d like to give you some fair warnings: 1. English is not my first (or even my second) language and 2. I do not have a beta reader and 3. while i play the game every now and then, i’m not entirely familiar with the deeper lore itself so if you spot any mistake, i’d like to apologize in advance and would appreciate it if you could point it out to me. Otherwise, please enjoy!

 

**PRESENT TIME - ????**

 

In the 37 years of Jess Mccree’s life, a 20-odd something of it had been spent in the blur high-speed chases and passing bullets, whizzing past him while his own struck dead on to his opponents vital points. Today was proving itself to be no different; at least a number of the Overwatch crew was here, a place almost 2000 kilometers away from Gibraltar and they were surrounded by Talon agents all too desperate to defend the final defense of a supposedly secret headquarter.

  
And yet, something was nagging the back of his head, like a persistent leech he once encounters in the depth of an unnamed swamp during his stint in Blackwatch. A premonition.

  
If anyone, especially Ana knows he believed in these sort of things, McCree would bet his beloved red serape that he’d be a laughing stock and he won’t live it down even to the afterlife. But ever since he woke up this morning, feeling the dull, phantom pain coming from his arm stump, he could tell that something big, something nasty is going to happen today, and he’s not gonna like it.

  
The last time he woke up with a twinge upon an old bullet wound, that had been the day the Switzerland incident happen, and he lost all of his parental figures in one fell swoop.

  
The last time he woke up to stinging pain in his eyes and he had dismissed it from overusing Deadeye, he had a close encounter with a rope and a mechanical platform with a false bottom.

  
The last time Jesse McCree, too happy, riding too high on the clouds and too close to the sun, experienced any sort of unexplainable pain on his body, it took him only a second and a flimsy piece of paper to realize why that day would be the worst, and that had been the last time he ignored anything his body tried to warn him as a mere coincidence.

  
A shouted order from his comm snapped him out of his reverie, just in time for him to spot several hiding figures on right behind an otherwise conspicuous boulder, one of them had a gun trained on him. With a grimace, McCree jumped away, the bullet grazing his shoulder and putting a hole through his serape. It barely stings, and it didn’t take long for him to stand up, aim his gun and retaliate. His palm trained over Peacekeeper’s hammer, he swiped his cigarillo from one side of his mouth to the other with his tongue and grinned at the look of horror slowly dawning the three agents in front of him.

  
What a coincidence, the sun has reached it’s highest point.

  
“ _Step right up_ ,”

 

* * *

 

It didn’t take long for the rest of the Talon agents to fall back, and while Soldier 76, the paranoid son of a bitch, insisted on them checking the parameter twice, they eventually found themselves inside of the heavily guarded headquarter.

  
“What do you think we’ll find inside?” McCree flicked his lighter off as soon as his new cigarillo is lit up and stashed it back in his pocket. Next to him, the one who had uttered the question, Tracer, is looking up at him with wide eyes that betrayed the nervous energy he could feel emanating from her. Not that he could blame her, or even Morrison, who insisted on going on ahead to make sure not even their multiple checking missed any hidden enemies.

  
“A place this well guarded, and is placed so far away from civilization, the only reason we even found it was because of Hana and Lucio taking a scenic tour while coming back from a scouting mission? Sweetheart, what won’t we find here,”

  
It was an answer to one person’s question, but he could feel simply from the rolling tension from everyone around him that they heard him. Tracer began to jump on the back of her heels, Fareeha raised her rocket launcher from her place on Morrison’s side while Angela sidled up closer to her, and he couldn’t see what Winston and Reinhardt were doing behind him, but McCree could only guess. On his other side, the sharp neon green light on the corner of his eyes tells him that Genji thinks of the situation.

  
They’re all nervous, McCree could tell. The cyborg’s every step was barely echoing on the dusty tile, and for a moment, McCree felt like it was nostalgic, both by the boy - well, early 30’s hardly a boy, but he’s always going to be that jumpy excitable newbie in Overwatch to him - and by the image of a dainty pair of feet, moving elegantly over hardwood floor, making no sound, accompanied by the smell of tea and something uniquely his—

  
McCree shook his head, and again when he caught Mercy’s questioning glance. He had more than enough time to think about that later tonight, with a bottle of whiskey and a whole lot of self-pity. Right now, enemies could appear at any time, someone or something who might be of the caliber of Reaper and Widowmaker, and he does not have time for this.

  
“All clear,” comes the echoing and commanding voice of Jack Morrison, and he could feel the tension lowers significantly all around him. From behind, Winston quickly makes his way next to Jack, Lena following right behind him. Crossing his arms, McCree both watched as Morrison and Winston began to split the team into 4 groups, splitting all of them evenly to scout the area. The headquarter’s a pretty big place, who knows what sort of thing Talon might have up here.

  
It was close to 10 minutes later than McCree found himself in a place that could only be described as an underground laboratory, Genji and Angela on either side of him. The entire place reeks, both from chemicals and an assortment of mold, and there is something else underneath, something that smells closely like—

  
“—blood,” the feminine, accented voice finished for him, her voice slightly shuddering at the thought of someone being injured.

  
The bearded cowboy tipped his hat down. Angela was the first to enter, picking up paper after paper that seems to have fallen in the resident’s attempt to flee once they found that they were being attacked. It was a mess, and even with the three of them, McCree knows it's going to be a long day. He shared a look with Genji, who quickly made his way in and started checking pieces of paper and fallen chemical mess on the floor.

  
For his part, McCree tore down computer components, taking away the motherboard other relevant hardware as was taught to him a long time ago and destroying the rest. This is the bits and pieces that would be Winston’s job after they left this place. Once or twice, he looked over to Genji and Angela, each absorbed into their own works, and noted Angela’s deepening frown, “Something wrong, Ange?” he asked, before crushing the next computer he encountered. The poor technology gave away like wet paper under his mechanical arm.

  
The german doctor gave him a quick look, before looking back down the documents in her arm, “These are all details of an experiment,” she said, eyes never leaving the complicated jargon McCree was sure no one else in this room but her understood, “Enhancement, upgrades, notes of improvements and results. They are making something big down here,”

  
“Is it dangerous?” come Genji’s voice, somewhere quite far into the lab. How or when he reached that point McCree had no idea, but after years of working with him, he stopped being surprised at the ninja wonder that is Genji Shimada, “Will we need backup down here? Should we warn the others?”

  
“I’m not sure,” Angela replied, picking up more papers. It’s 2080, McCree thought, watching the ever growing stack of paper in the good doctor’s hand, and Talon is still using that many papers? “But considering how they left all of these here, whatever they are experimenting on, it might still be around here,”

  
The silence that follows was palpable.

  
“Whatever it is,” McCree placed his flesh hand down to where he had Peacekeeper safely tucked to its holster, “We’ll just have to be ready for it,”

  
That seems to be enough for the other two, as Genji went back to whatever it is he was doing, and Angela began to pick up several more paper, lips silently moving as she read through each and every one of them. It wasn’t until McCree could no longer hear the rustling of paper did he look up from the latest computer he destroyed and looked back to Angela, who had another daunted, if slightly more horrified look on her face, “Ange?” he quickly ask, ready to abandon the collection of hardware in his hand should it be necessary, “What did you find?”

  
Angela was silent, and from where he stood, the older man quickly found Genji’s eyes - faceplate, whatever - to share the worry over this silence and agreement to act quickly should anything happen. Their eye contact broke when Angela spoke, her voice wavering, “Human,” they heard her, before she straightened her back while her wings drooped, as if projecting her true emotion even when the person herself tried to stay composed, “They’re experimenting on a human,”

  
It was a grim revelation, and yet, “It’s not the first time they did it,” McCree struggled, almost biting his cigarillo in half from how hard he grind his teeth, “They’ve done that with— with someone else,”

  
The truth about Project:Widowmaker and what happened to their comrade surfaced not a few months ago, a mission that left them with more wounds than the physical ones. It had been even harder then on the field, whenever they saw Amelie, even harder so when each of the old Overwatch members saw how Tracer seems to be determined to remind her of the past, as if that would be enough to bring everything back, to right what was wrong. It was the same type of pain that made everyone turns the other way every time Jack had the project’s folder pulled open, as if that would magically make a name that wasn’t there to exist, knowing without even asking that perhaps for the first time in his life this hardened veteran wanted to fool himself into thinking that something else was to blame for everything that went wrong in his life.

  
“Yes, but this is different, Jesse,” she grounded, flicking the paper harshly, “I haven’t been able to find all of the parts, but they weren’t just going to control the mind or alter the psychology. We know they had their worries of it being reverted, and this is a plan is the improvement of it. A complete reconstruction of a human being. Instead of changing you, they are removing everything that made you human, and plants something else, genetic, dna, they making you less of a human and more- something else,” Angela slammed the paper on the desk in front of her, startling McCree enough to miss Genji making his way to the doctor. The cyborg placed a hand on Angela’s shoulder, an attempt to comfort her.

  
Angela, for her part, took a deep breath, smiling weakly to Genji before continuing, “Of all the things to do, as a doctor I could never forgive something like this. To— to hurt a human being like this,”

  
McCree could understand, knowing her since his adolescent years. He remembered her reacting the same way when the truth about Project:Widowmaker came to light, the dedication she placed upon restoring Genji’s body, who is now helping her to pick up the papers that have spilled over in her brief fit of rage. Someone who is that dedicated to advancing medicine, to save lives, and here was Talon as a whole, playing with the same life as if it worth nothing to them.

  
Angela mentioned the experiment to still be around here somewhere. McCree hoped it’s not too late for them to save whoever it is.

  
His train of thought broke when all of the sudden, Genji stopped, a piece of paper held in his hand, “Wha—,” he breathed out, and while they couldn’t see his face, they could see the tightening hold he had on the paper.

  
In front of him, Angele frowned, and tentatively placed a hand on Genji’s forearm, “Genji?”

  
He didn’t reply. If anything, his arm began to shake, the paper crumpled beyond belief, and in a flash, Genji was gone, something akin to a battle cry following his every step.

  
“Genji!” McCree bellowed after him, but goddamn if the kid ain’t fast as heck. He gave a brief glance to Angela, who nodded as she picked the paper the younger agent has destroyed, and followed through. The laboratory was big, but Winston had managed to secure the blueprint of it before assigning each of them to their respective area to search. When Genji took a sure step to the hallway on the right, it took McCree a few moments to realize that he was making his way to a containment area, one that was supposed to be Morrison, Reinhardt and Fareeha’s area of search.

  
True enough, when he finally caught up, McCree could see Morrison and Reinhardt futilely trying to stop Genji from destroying the place, while Fareeha was on the sidelines, guarding what he suspected to be something they found before Genji stormed in, “Get ahold of yourself, Genji!” he heard the ex-Overwatch leader commanded, before being shoved over in favour of destroying the door behind him. It opens to reveal a small room akin to a prison, and it didn’t take long for McCree to put two and two together. This might be where Talon kept their experiment.

  
The area of containment is big, and each of those doors seems to be build to withstand attack considering how it took Genji a lot of hacking and slashing to be able to open them. Between Morrison’s pulse gun, Reinhardt’s hammer and Fareeha’s launcher, they should be able to do a quick work, but they won’t know what is behind each door. McCree gritted his teeth and he caught the sight of a door opened with burn marks, blasted away by what he could guess were Pharah’s rockets. If none of them knew that someone was behind that door…

  
“Genji! What the hell is still all abou—“

  
There're expletives shouted in Japanese - some McCree only knew due to his and Genji’s old habit of teaching each other curse words in their respective mother language - before Genji finally began to make sense, “He’s here! Where is he! Those—“ another round of expletives, harsh and filled with rage, “kept him here! They hurt him! They hurt my—“ another japanese word, followed by another. McCree was unfamiliar with the first word, but he felt like he heard the second one a lot of time before, after the language session when it was followed by swapping stories of their past.

  
“Who do they hurt, Genji?” McCree implored this time, raising his volume over Genji’s rage, “What are you talking about?”

  
“Watashi no anija,” he spat then with impatience, as if bitter they were trying to question him instead of helping, “That experiment Angela found, McCree, the name on the paper was that of my brother’s,”

 

* * *

 

  
**10 YEARS EARLIER - TABERNAS DESERT, SPAIN**

  
In a hindsight, maybe there is a point in listening to -some of - Reyes’ lectures; know your limit, never become too dependent on your vices and for Madre di Dio’s sake, mijo, don’t combine work with pleasure.

  
Well standing on the creaking wooden platform in the midst of scorching Spanish heat, a crowd of armed men calling for his death with glee, McCree sighed and sent a quick prayer to his ex-mentor, in whichever part of the afterlife they allowed him into. Sorry, Reyes, he scoffed as the burly son of a bitch behind him pushed him impatiently, right to the lowered makeshift platform where he could see the poorly covered hole underneath the hanging noose, looks like imma join you, Ana and Morrison soon.

  
It’s quite telling of his upbringing when the moment he had the noose around his neck the only thought that passed the ex-Blackwatch member was how archaic this entire execution sequence is. Really? People still do hanging? Then again, the cartel’s leader is kind of an old-fashioned man, so maybe it’s the novelty of it? After all, the only reason he found out that McCree was the traitor within his ranks was because he did the old ‘in vino veritas’ trick: fill him with enough alcohol in his system and he’ll sing out any tune you wanna hear. Including his plan to kill the boss and claim his bounty.

  
Come to think of it, this is all Reyes’ fault. Reyes and his ‘no, you’re too young for this shit, mijo’ or ‘this quite quality shit is too good to be wasted on a idiota like you’ made him the lightweight that he is right now. Told him he should’ve trained him to be more resistant to influences.

  
Ah, well, he’ll have all the time in the world to chew out his former mentor once this is over and done with.

  
McCree couldn’t help the slight choking noise that comes from him when the giant executioner behind him tightened the noose around his neck, and he could hear the crowd cheering even louder. From the very back of the crowd stood the fucker that ordered this entire show, fat cat in his fancy suit smirking at him victoriously behind his puffing cigar. From the corner of his eyes, McCree caught the moment as the executioner, glanced towards his boss and stood still as if waiting for a signal.

  
The boss - ain’t it just funny that on the last seconds of his life, McCree just forgets the name of the man who killed him? Should’ve paid more attention to that wanted poster - raised one of his hand, and instantly, the crowd died down. The 27 years old scoffed at the display. Trained monkeys, all of ‘em.

  
“Any last word?” the words came croaked, and doesn’t that just completed the entire slippery frog aesthetic the bastard got?

  
Reply on his lips, McCree could almost imagine Reyes looking down at him, shaking his head in exasperation. Dios Mio, that mouth of yours is going to be the death of you.

  
Ain’t it the truth, Gabe. Ain’t it the truth.

  
“Yeah,” he spat back, a bit of his saliva launching out to the ground from the intensity, “Vete al infierno, puta,”

  
The smirk on the boss face fell slightly, and McCree took satisfaction in the enraged look he managed to coax out of the man before he lifted his hand again and shouted the order to pull the lever. Ah, shit this is it, was all he could think of, when the executioner held the noose tightly and he could hear the sound of people underneath the wooden stage clambering to pull the cover underneath his feet, Gabe, Ana, Jack, hope you guys gotta space for— what the hell is that?

  
It might’ve seemed ridiculous to be focused on what for all he knew could just be a light trick when he is literally seconds away from death’s door, but there is no mistaking the shadow of a person meters away from where the entire shitshow is going down. There, just above the cliff that hid this hidden ranch/slaughterhouse away from general viewing. Just as the platform underneath his feet suddenly disappear and gravity does its job, McCree caught a glimpse of the boss’ head exploding and was that…

  
Was that an arrow?

  
How much more middle age can this day get?

  
All of the sudden the rope around his neck tightens, and the cold feeling that invaded your skull once your oxygen is cut away has never been nice, but this is something else. The panicked and outraged shouting all around him disappear underneath the sound of his rushing blood, and no matter how calm he tried to keep himself, McCree couldn’t help his flailing legs, trying desperately to find some sort of footing in order to survive.

  
It felt like an eternity, when suddenly he lurched and he dropped down, free falling and ended up on the ground face first. “Fuck!” was the first word to come out of him, and once again when he felt something coppery slipping out of his mouth. The brunet spits, saw blood on the ground, and it was just then did he realize he is on a ground instead of dangling lifelessly from a noose.

  
What the fuck just hap—

  
He didn’t have time to even complete a question to himself when his neck felt tight again, and it took him a while to realize that the noose, still conveniently around his neck is being pulled, “Ach, shit— hey!” he choked out, stumbling along the ground as he tried to gain some footing, and he finally did when with one hand, the ex-gang member looped his arm along the rope and pull.

  
This made whoever was pulling him falters, and it gave McCree just enough time to stand up and take in the sight of whoever it is who thought it was a good thing to pull him like some misbehaving dog on a leash.

  
His glare quickly turns to a stare, and boy, oh boy, if that is not a sight indeed.

  
The tall - figuratively, against him at least - drink of water in the middle of the desert, with long raven hair loosely tied only at the bottom, several harried locks attaching and framing themselves to a pretty face with high cheekbones and cat eyes made for glaring. Lush lower lip bitten and pulled to a frown of displeasure, and he would gladly take stock of what might be underneath those beautifully embroidered clothing if the owner of that obviously toned bod could stop jerking on to the other end of his noose and made him loose balance once more.

  
“This is no time to be stopping,” this desert Fata Morgana sneered, and oh boy howdy, there’s an accent there - Asia? Definitely somewhere in Asia - and Jesse McCree is a weak, weak man with too many weakness, especially to deep lilted voice that belongs to a prettier sight than a well-polished gun, “If you are not one of them, come with me,”

  
“Oh, darlin’, you don’t have to tell me twi—, ach! Stop pulling!”

  
“Well, if you are not determined in wasting the distraction I caused, then maybe I would not have to!” the man growled, pulling even more on the rope and look at that, attitude. He’s just determined to tick off every single one of McCree’s list of types, ain’t he?

  
Whatever the distraction the man has caused proved to be effective, however, when they both found themselves slipping away from the ranch easily and to the wide desert that lays beyond. It took them hours to reach the nearest town, a small populated area with only a handful of people and even less number of omnics, seemingly only exist as a stop for travelers. Boy, he hadn’t expected to be this far away.

  
They settle themselves in the nearest diner, when McCree’s personal beautiful miracle tossed a bag to the table and slipped into the seat right across of him, “Where the hell did that came from,” he questioned loudly, earning himself a dry glare.

  
“You are not very attentive are you?”

  
“Not with you stealing my attention away, darlin’,” he replied, grinning even wider at the absolute look of hatred sent his way, “Speaking off, thanks for saving my behind back there, ain’t gonna lie, I ain’t exactly ready to kick it yet and especially not—“

  
“Do you always talk this much?”

  
“When the company’s as pleasant as yours, darlin’,”

  
“Stop that,”

  
“Stop what?”

  
“Stop calling me that,” the man sneered, and boy, that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is, “I am not your darling. I have a name,”

  
McCree grinned even wider. Chance! “Easily rectified situation, darl’,” he waited for the glare, but if anything the man only looks confused. Adorable, “Jesse McCree. Bounty hunter, part-time mercenary,” He was about to add his records with Blackwatch to the list, until he stopped himself. McCree might be prone to recklessness, but he’s not stupid; it might’ve been a decade now, but god knows there are still people looking for him and his comrades. There’s no telling if the cutie across of him is one of those people.

  
He extended his hand, a grin on his lips. The gesture was not returned. His smile faltered a little, “Yanno, it’s only polite ta—“

  
“I do not have any wish to be polite, Jesse McCree,” and oh, ain’t his name sound so wonderful rolled by that sinful tongue, “Now that you are safe and I no longer have a guilty conscience, I believe it is best for us to part ways,”

  
“Woah, woah, wait!” the man hardly left the seat when McCree put his mechanical hand on his - and won’t that metallic sensation ever go away, even after 2 long years of having it - and stopped him from leaving, “Where are you going?”

  
Another dry glare was sent his way - good god, he’d never get enough of that - before the man sharply turns, shrugging off McCree’s hand while dragging the bag he had with him earlier in one smooth movement. Damn, “I will go to the nearest office to turn in my bounty,” the raven haired beauty shook the bag in his hand for emphasis, and oh, he was wondering where that faint smell of blood came from. Clever. Bit brutal for his liking, but clever, “Then whatever I do beyond that point is no longer your business, because we will not see each other again,”

  
If anything, the eastern beauty in front of him is right. But just that thought of never meeting him again is distressing.

  
Love at first sight sounds ridiculous, but damn if this ain’t shaping up to be one.

  
By the time he’s finished with this line of thinking, the man was already at the door, and McCree could tell that his next action irritates him to no end, but he couldn’t help himself, “Can i at least have your name?” he shouted, all the way from his table to the door. Every patron in the diner is now looking at them, and the glare sent his way as a reply is beginning to become endearing than actually threatening, “I still need to thank ya for savin’ my life, darlin’,”

  
He could see a protest forming on the man’s lips at the term, before he closes his mouth and bit his lower lips. McCree’s stomach felt as if butterflies exploded inside of it when raven hair flows as the man turned to face him fully, “Perhaps the next time we meet,” he said, and for the first time since they first met, a small smile graced the pale, porcelain-like face, “If you can find me again, Jesse McCree,”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8 years ago, Jesse McCree found an injured man in an alley and proceed to take him home and make him his partner (in hunting for bounties).
> 
> In the future, Genji Shimada divulged the circumstances of his injuries, and wanted nothing more but to have his brother back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is chapter 2. Thank you so much for everyone who commented and left kudos for this story! I genuinely does no expect to receive that many (or any) attention, so i'm really grateful. Thank you! 
> 
> Well, that said, please enjoy!

**PRESENT TIME - ????**

  
“Brother?”

  
The metal door fell like a ton worth of elephants, but even through the deafening noise, nobody turns their attention away from Genji. There is a glint to the glass on his faceplate, even if there is no light source coming into this dark area, “I,” he began, before faltering, the hand holding his katana rising and lowering along with his tone. Reinhardt, uncharacteristically quiet - because no matter what you say about the boisterous man, he is a man who understand pain, just like every single one of them - approached and tried to put a hand on the japanese’ narrow shoulder only to be shrugged away, “I never told you much of my past. Of where i came from before i joined Overwatch,”

  
Nobody stopped him when he made his way to another closed door. Genji raised his katana, posing readily to slash down the metal door before he seems to think better of it and stopped, letting his arm hang on his side, “You know of the Shimada clan, of my father, of the clan’s leaderless state when you attack them,” taking in a deep breath, he sliced through the air with a sharp movement, and in a second the metal door fell into two part. McCree would’ve whistled in awe - that door was at least half of his length, and it fell so easily underneath Genji’s blade - if he wasn’t too entranced with the nervous lull Genji’s outburst had placed them all in.

  
“I have a brother, an older brother. Watashi no anija,” the room behind the door bore nothing, but there were traces of blood, and there is evidence that a long time ago, someone had occupied it. The coppery smell that wafted through the room didn’t help, “he was— is a great warrior. The pride of our family, of my father’s and the elders’. I used to be held to the same standard as he, but unlike him, I do not have the ambition for it,”

  
Instead of moving on to another door, Genji entered the new room he had just opened, gave it a quick look before shaking his head and moving away, “He was so skilled in everything; battle, strategy, running the family’s business, even his visions were close to what the clan elders had. Long before my father’s illness and subsequently his death, they had planned to replace him with my honored brother,”

  
“Shimada clan did not have a leader when we attacked them 20 years ago,” it was Morrison, his voice a deep rumble. He sounded curious, but there was a hesitation in it that made McCree reel back before he remembered; right, that mission had been a joint leadership effort with him. One of the shining days before everything went to hell.

  
There’s a chuckle, just as hollow as the next room Genji pried open with the sharp blade of his katana. “Probably because the supposed leader was out on a hunt,” there’s a low hiss of machinery that fills the emptiness, and now the expressionless faceplate was removed, exposing the scarred skin underneath. It has been a while since McCree was ever privy to Genji’s face, and from the sharp intake from Fareeha, he knew the woman was thinking the same thing as he.

  
Genji looks— sorrowful, there is no other word to explain it. The angry marks all around his face contorted along with the line of his frown, and without the cover, it reminded McCree of how old Genji really was, even if he more often acted like someone half of his age. The pity in the cowboy’s eyes disappeared when Genji raised his head and looked at each one of them, piercing eyes only slightly disturbed by what seems to be the beginning of tears, “It was his final test from the elders,” he verbalised, and at the very end of it, his eyes found McCree’s, “to straightened up his misbehaving sibling,”

  
There is something unsettling the way Genji emphasized his words, and combined with years old knowledge of the Japanese Yakuza empire, it didn’t take long for McCree to come to the conclusion, but it was still felt surreal when Reinhardt echoed not long after, “He was the one who almost killed you,”

  
Genji didn’t answer. He turned on his heels with the same speed as the movement of his katana, and without another word, another door fell, revealing nothing but another blood-spattered room that tells tales of what had happened in this place. Soon as he saw the content, the Japanese man clicked his tongue in displeasure, before sighing.

  
At this point, McCree wondered if everyone was thinking the same thing as he: Someone please say something. The tension was almost painful, but what does one say after that sort of revelation? I’m sorry your brother tried to kill you? Why didn’t you tell us in the first place, we could’ve helped you hunt him down?

  
Are you this determined in finding him now because you wanted to settle the score?

  
The lull of his thoughts was broken by a sharp jab from Fareeha, close to his height with her armor on as she glared at him. It always unnerved him just how much she inherited that look from Ana - not that she ever wanted to hear that for some reason - but the scolding hiss she gave was even closer to what he quite often hear in his adolescent days, “Jesse!”

  
It didn’t occur to the cowboy then that he might’ve verbalized his last question out loud, until Genji turned to him, his scarred eyes still visible, “If we don’t find him soon, there might not be a score to settle, now, would there?”

 

* * *

 

  
**8 YEARS AGO - HANAMURA, JAPAN**

  
Hanamura was every inch the oriental beauty Genji always made it out to be, and despite his lighter wallet for the trip here, McCree didn’t regret it one bit.

  
It was a hanami season, according to the tour guide who gave him various pamphlets, where people would literally watch flowers from cherry blossoms. Well, the pamphlets made it seems a lot more interesting than that, and he remembered Genji mentioning it a few times - between subtle brags about the various girls he brought along for the ride as well - so it can’t all be that bad.

  
Whatever, the cowboy thought, adjusting his hat with one hand and slipping his (fake) passport into his pocket in the other. He’s here for a vacation, a long overdue one where he would spend the next 2 weeks just splurging his hard earned cash on booze and cheap accommodation while experiencing new places with the gaze of a tourist, instead of an arms dealer and a special op agent that he was the last time he was around.

  
The hotel he booked had been close enough to the city centre, and the receptionist, a kindly older woman who spoke in gentle, slightly-above whisper tone had been nice enough to give him directions and pin point places of interest in his phone’s digital map, “Be careful,” she warned him before leaving, raising one frail finger and wag it slightly to his direction, “don’t go near dark alleys or get yourself into too much trouble. The Shimada Clan may be gone, but us locals knew better than to think they are gone just like that,”

  
McCree tipped his hat in both signs of respect and understanding, and to hide the smile that slip away from his face.

  
Shimada Clan. Boy, he hadn’t hear that name for a long while, not since that faithful day that the Overwatch op led them to Shimada castle and found themselves a half dead boy who would later proves to be a valuable ally. Genji had been a disastrous mess then, and even to this day, not a single soul in Overwatch - or what was left of it anyway - even knew what happened to him.

  
Genji might be cheerful, wise-cracking kid, but like all of them, he had a past, and it’s up to him if he never wanted to open that particular skeleton in the closet.

  
The sound of tittering brought McCree back to present, and he tipped his head to the group of ladies who giggled even more at his gesture. What a peaceful place; it’s been a while since his appearance had made anyone smile like that.

  
And it was truly a peaceful and friendly place. It’s almost hard to believe that he never took a time out of the missions Deadlock or Blackwatch sent him to just to take a stroll and enjoy the view. The hanami season was greatly underrated by the pamphlets, the local food and sweets probably added more pounds he doesn’t necessarily need, and the attention local ladies in pretty kimonos threw his way doesn’t hurt either. Smiling to another gaggle of women, he wondered just how much of that was truly based on his rugged handsome face or simply the fact that foreigners are probably a pretty unusual sight in Hanamura.

  
Maybe next time, he should go back here with someone else: Angela might love the experience, or Reinhardt would be a great travel buddy to have around. His thought flies towards Genji in Nepal, and wondered if that should be his next holiday destination.

  
While his mind wander, it took McCree a while to realize he had deviate from the main streets and was now staring at a derelict street, without any other soul in sight. “Hmm?” he hummed to himself, tilting his hat up to see the closest store - closed for indefinite time - more clearly and scratching his chin. He didn’t seem to remember this area anywhere near where the tourist attractions are supposed to be, and wondered just how far had he deviated from his route.

  
“This is what i get for daydreaming,” he scolded himself with a sigh, and looked up to the sky. The light blue has started to slowly gradate with a mixture of crimson and yellow, and he couldn’t see where the sun is. Well, he certainly hadn’t planned on being lost this late, “Wonder if the map’ll show me just where exactly i am,”

  
And the map does. Apparently he had taken a turn to an off area from the main road, one that he won’t even bother trying to pronounce in respect for a friend’s language, and the walk back to set him back to course is not too far. it wouldn’t take long for him to turn now and follow the route. However, that wasn’t the only thing that stole his attention.

  
The digital display of the map showed him the closest landmark near him, right on the very dead end of the area was the unmistakable fortress that is - or at least, used to be - the Shimada Castle.

  
Locking his phone once more, the now 29 years old slid the device back to his pocket to pick up his cigarillo box, twirling it with ease in his hand instead of taking out one of his favorite. It wasn’t that late, and according to the map, if he hurry, he should be able to go back to the city centre before nightfalls. He’d then spend the first night in Hanamura with local booze to expand his knowledge, try some local cuisine, and try his luck with the floor mattress the receptionist lady had tried to assure him is more comfortable than it looks.

  
And yet, despite the plan being laid out perfectly in his mind, McCree find himself clicking his tongue, shoving the cigarillo back into his pocket and walking to the opposite direction from where his map pointed him to.

 

 

 

* * *

 

  
What the fuck was he thinking?

  
Like the fuck, like what the actual fuck was he thinking?

  
As these thoughts run through his head, Jesse McCree, 29 years old, a bounty hunter on holiday who was stupid enough to think ‘Maybe I won’t really need Peacekeeper, my last line of defense today’ to a place he had been warned is crawling with the remaining members of a yakuza empire, was hiding inside of a closed vintage toy store, ducking his head underneath the counter to prevent the group of well dressed men from seeing him.

  
And he wasn’t even anywhere close to the main gate yet! All of the sudden there are men pouring out from the compound’s gate, all of them dressed in suits and shouting in their native language, one that increase in volume when one of them caught sight of Jesse in all of his not suited glory. Were they really that sensitive about trespassers in their area? He hadn’t even been there for more than 5 minutes!

  
The shouting in front of the toy store finally died down - thank god it was right before he started developing leg cramps - and once the last of the hurried footsteps disappeared, the brunet peeked out from under the table. The coast is clear - mostly, he could still hear the telltale shoutings from somewhere close - and if he’s not mistaken, the main road should be somewhere around the corner from where he is hiding.

  
Vaulting over the counter, McCree peeked his head over the creaking entrance door to make sure there’s no one else around but him, and make a run for it.

  
“What the hell is that all about,” he wheezed, once the gate the sight of crowded streets began to come to view, just beyond the darkened alley he had slinked into in order to hide himself from view, “Damn,” sighing, he fished out his cigarillo box, frowning at the wrinkles on to top of the lid - must be from when he was crouching - before plucking one out, popping it into his mouth with ease.

  
Picking up his lighter next, McCree was about to lit his cigar when the extra light brought attention to a previously unseen object and due curiosity made him look.

  
The alleyway he had escaped to branched out a little to what seems to be a dead end, and had he not been paying attention, McCree would’ve dismissed the object hurdled on the wall of said dead end as a bags of trash and another assortment of garbage. Now with his lighter on, he could clearly see that that was not the case.

  
There were bags of trash and assortment garbages, as well as something that glints and glows faintly, along with something that is definitely moving and breathing.

  
He almost dropped his lighter in a hurry, but McCree wasn’t about to just leave when the closer he gets, the more he could see that it wasn’t some sleeping mutt, it was, in fact, a human being, and from the faint groans, they’re probably injured, “Shit,” was all he could say, looming over the figure and taking on the sight.

  
It was a man - or an immodestly dressed lady, in which case, he’d apologize later - leaning against the wall, almost curling around himself - herself? - while clutching on his side. The glow nearby seems to be some sort of a stick, an arrow, he quickly realized, and right next to it was an elaborate and advanced bow. The slight awe he felt looking at the craftsmanship of the weapon melts at the sound of a sharp, pained gasp, and with another curse under his breath, the cowboy knelt and inspected the injured person.

  
This close, he could smell the wavering scent of blood, mixed obnoxiously with the scent of trash next to them, “Ah shit, you’re bleedin’,” he clicked his tongue and tentatively reached out, before a hand suddenly shot up at a speed that couldn’t have belonged to an injured person.

  
The man - that deep voice just confirms it, and McCree felt guilty for feeling relieved over ogling said person’s exposed chest and the elaborate tattoos - growls something out, and it took McCree’s mind a few second to realize that one, that was not English, and two, that voice sounds damn familiar for some reason.

  
“Easy there, fella,” he shushed, as if he was talking to a panicky horse back in his parent’s ranch and not an injured man who’s probably bleeding half to death, “I ain’t gon’ hurt you, ya hear?”

  
The grip on his hand loosened, yet before McCree count that as a victory, he noted that the man’s breathing was slowly getting fainter and fainter, and considered that perhaps this lack of resistance is more because of his fading health than actually understanding him. With frowned brows, he checked where the blood smelled the strongest, a cursed so hard his cigarillo tipped from his lips and to the ground.

  
Blood, there’s blood all over, way, way too much for this to be saved.

  
Now, logically, he should be going to the hospital; this isn’t the sort of wound that can be taken care of with a couple of shot of whiskey and a couple of bandage rolls. But aside from his passport, he doesn’t exactly have other documentation, and he couldn’t in good conscience just leave this guy to the hands of strangers.

  
Lifting his head to high heavens, McCree groaned, “Why me,” he whined, almost expecting something - like Ana’s hand - to slap him on the back of his head for wasting time when someone’s dying in front of him. And this is supposed to be a vacation too.

  
Taking off his serape, he quickly - and messily - draped it around the now seemingly unconscious man, careful of the injury on his side before maneuvering the now limp body to a bridal carry; one hand underneath the leg and the other supporting the back. As he stood up, an added weight confused him, until he noticed the tight grip the man had to what he could now see as the bow he was admiring earlier.

  
“Oh, come on,” he groaned again, putting the man back down, slinging the bow on his shoulder - one with the mechanical arm - before resuming his carry. There was no resistance this time, other than a soft whimper that reminded McCree that he should probably hurry.

  
“I’m such a fucking samaritan,”

 

* * *

 

  
The walk back to the hotel had been long and tedious, with people glancing on his side, and McCree thanked his lucky stars and hindsight to put the serape over the man’s body. Carrying someone around this late at night is only a slightly unusual sight, but carrying someone openly bloodied would gain unwanted attention.

  
Oh, and the large intimidating bow on his shoulder might also help divert the attention.

  
Thankfully, the receptionist lady was not around when he arrived, and he hurriedly made his way to his room, putting the injured man down before tossing the bow away. Goddamn, that thing is quite the burden. A quick inspection told him that the washroom does provide a first aid kit - small mercies here - which he hurriedly brought back to the room, and laid out on the floor-bed thing where he laid his patient.

  
His first thought as he unbinds the cloth securing the man’s shirt was ‘hot damn, that is one toned bod’. And it is. Chest he previously mistaken as a woman’s breast, defined and obviously well-trained muscles, and the tattoo, elaborate and detailed running from said exposed chest down to the man’s wrist. The smear of blood and deep wound - thankfully it’s not bleeding out anymore - was ruining the sight, and McCree decided to quickly amend the situation by washing it away with the smallest cloth he can find in around.

  
As he worked, McCree began to regret he never quite paid attention to Angela whenever she lectured him about health and patching himself up, because the end product looked bad even to his own standard, and it took him wasting both available bandage rolls in the kit box for him to deem it - somewhat - alright. The man didn’t even budge once, which made his job both easier and harder at the same time, but at least he was nice enough to give out one or two groan every now and then to let McCree know that he wasn’t dead.

  
Good, the last thing he needed was a dead man in his hotel room.

  
Once the adrenaline started to recede, it was then Jesse McCree started questioning his own actions and what to do from here. Just like he always does. Okay, so he got lost and wandered into an old territory of a Yakuza clan - which may or may not be as disbanded as people thought - got chased around, found an injured man - and a bow he wouldn’t let go for some reason - and brought him back to his hotel to patch him up.

  
A man who’s… holy shit, is starting to open his eyes.

  
And weren’t them eyes such a pretty sight, he thought, catching the sight of the prettiest shade of amber he had ever seen - or, have he seen them before? - blinking blearily over their surrounding before zeroing down on him. The man looked haggard; his raven - gray hair tugging freely from the secure knot, laying as haphazardly as the yellow scarf he used to tie them together. His skin looked ashen, but McCree supposed being close to death’s door do that to some people. He should know.

  
He started saying— something. It sounded as weak as he look, and just from that McCree’s gonna presume he’s not even well enough to see that the person he’s trying to talk to ain’t looking like a person who would understand his language, “Easy there,” he said instead, lifting both arms to show he is not a threat, “Found ya on an alley few blocks from here. Patch you right up, but ah say I didn’t do a very good job,” with a sheepish grin, McCree rubbed the back of his nape, gesturing to the messy bandage underneath the blue, now mostly ruined clothes, “Should probably take it easy there, pardner,”

 

Yet despite the warning, the injured man sat up - slow as it was - and seems surprised to see his shirt fell off the moment he did, and quickly covered himself with the blanket McCree covered him with. The cowboy almost snorted; that from the man who literally has his left titty out when he first found him? But he wasn’t given any sort of attention, and he watched as his patient began inspecting the wound on his side, touching the gauze and the small visible patch of blood that started to seep through.

 

Then he quickly turns to McCree, the sharp movement of his head finally giving the momentum his hair tie needed to free the rest of his locks and it was then the brunet realize why a lot of things about this man seems to familiar. Yeah, the beard threw him off a little, as does the capacity of his memory, but at that moment, he knew there is no mistaking it.

 

Briefly, he was glad he hadn’t thought of lighting another cigar, because his inability to close his mouth then would make him waste another batch of good nicotine, “It’s you,”

  
His senses were overflowing with information right and left; the hot desert somewhere in Spain, the itchy noose on his neck, and out of nowhere, a beauty that has no business being in bumfuck nowhere, and yet he was there, pulling on his noose rope on one hand and a bloody bag containing a bounty’s head in the other.

 

Before his eyes, McCree watched as frown on that now familiar face slowly melted, replaced with one of recognition, relief and - oh god dare he even hope - happiness, “Jesse McCree,” he breathed out, and here is that familiar tingle in McCree’s spine again, something that felt like absolute pleasure, “So we do meet again,”

 

* * *

 

  
**PRESENT TIME - ????**

  
The clash between Genji’s blade and the sheath could be gritting to ear when one’s not used to it, but it hardly distracted anyone’s attention from his next words, “But you are wrong,” he said, his accent thicker than ever. McCree knew that only happen whenever he is upset or is particularly irritable. It’s hard to know what sort of mood he is in right now, “I’ve forgiven him long ago. Master Zenyatta has taught me well to leave my vengeance behind and i have gone my way to make sure anija knows that too,”

  
This time, it came to a surprise to everyone when he suddenly strikes his fist down the frame of the now broken door, anger and sorrow pouring over from his every gesture. Fareeha’s hand on McCree’s forearm retreated, but he barely paid any attention to that, “That was why this angers me. I found out a long time ago that not long after my presumed death, anija had exiled himself away from the clan. I knew then he could be a better man, i knew he wasn’t a lost cause. I had even hoped to mend our relationship to be what it used to be!”

  
When the next door fell and there was no sign of anyone being inside, Genji roared, and even Reinhardt moved backward, as if afraid that his thick armor would not save him from Genji’s wrath, “If Talon took him away from me before I could… If I lost my brother the second time I will never forgive them. Nor will I ever forgive myself,”

  
The first time Genji had joined Overwatch, he had been an angry child, ready to tear down everything in his path as if it all wronged him. It took Morrison giving him a stern talking to and Angela’s encouragement for him to be able to accept his new body, and even then he would never say what is it that caused him to be in that state. After the Recall, all traces of that Genji had seemed to disappear into thin air, and he seems eager, happy even, as if there was something he was looking forward to everyday.

  
McCree could only guess now that this brother is what he had been looking for, and there’s a chance Talon had either killed him, or worse.

  
His mind quickly went to Amelie and Reyes. He spits out his cigarillo and stomp on it with more force than necessary to quell it down. It made his mind go to someone else instead, along with the scent of loose-leaf tea, eyes the color of sunset and a piece of paper on his nightstand, telling him with quick, precise words that his fairytale, his white picket fence dream is over.

  
“We better get goin’ then,” he picked Peacekeeper off from it’s buckle, “Remember what Angela said: If they can’t even run away with their papers, there’s a chance that they ain’t running away with a grown ass prisoner in tow,”

  
He barely even finished speaking when an explosion occurred right next to him, and McCree only managed to turn slightly before finding Fareeha’s back walking away from him, toward the row of cells on the opposite of the one that Genji had been working on, “This is a big place,” she said amidst cocking her rocket launcher, “And time is a waste if we’re talking about the life of a possibly heavily injured man. We might need as much help as we can,”

  
“Good thinking, Pharah!” Reinhardt with his booming voice, and not long after followed by a battle cry as he slammed down a door with all his might, “Don’t worry, Genji! We’ll find your brother in no time!”

  
In the middle of them, Morrison took a sweeping look between all of them, one long look towards Genji before sighing and turning his comm on. The crackling noise was echoed in each of their receivers, “Attention, everyone,” he announced, one hand trained on his comm and the other raising his pulse gun as the veteran made his way to a different section of the containment area. Fareeha hadn’t been exaggerating when she said this place is huge, “We’ve confirmed the possibility of at least one survivor in the perimeter. Our first priority right now is to find him, check every place that could be used as a holding cell and immediately report if anything seems amiss. Chances are Talon had done something to him,” The white-haired man stopped, before continuing, “Angela, I need you to stay alert. He might need medical assistance,”

  
It was pretty telling that Jack had refrained to mention that the person they are looking for was in any way related to one of them. And while the older man already made his way to his destination, McCree could see that he didn’t miss the deep bow Genji gave him in gratitude.

  
Deciding that this place could make do with 3 people, the cowboy patted Genji’s back before following Morrison to the inner depths of the containment area. Genji returned the gesture by gripping his forearm tightly and letting it go just as fast, before returning to his task in prying each and every cell door in the area open, his blade’s chime working in tandem with Reinhardt’s roar and Fareeha’s explosions.

  
Near a year before all of this, McCree found out that he doesn’t get to keep his happiness. Right now, if his friend had a chance to get his, then he’s damn well is gonna help if that’s the last thing he could do.

 

* * *

 

  
**8 YEARS AGO - HANAMURA, JAPAN**

  
“So what were you doing in a place like that?”

  
The man looked up from his bowl of noodle soup - Ramen, McCree remembered, from a place called Rikimaru that he had requested if you don’t mind, thank you very much - his black hair now freely spilling all over his shoulder. The clothes - Kyudo-gi, he called it - had been a lost cause, but he had been determined to salvage it, so McCree had both it and the scarf previously used to hold his hair up placed right beside the futon - nice to know someone speaks the local language and therefore remind McCree just what each things are called around here - as they both eat.

  
When he received no reply, McCree wiped his mouth with the back of his flesh hand - earning himself an adorable look of disgust - and repeated, “What were you doing in that place? You know, the dumpster I found you in? Didn’t take ya to be a dumpster diver,” especially not with such a fancy weapon at his disposal. The bow was now propped on the other side of the bathroom, hidden from view should any hotel staff just suddenly popped in.

  
His patient seems hesitant, fiddling with the chopsticks in his hand for a little. McCree actually felt bad for him, “Look, ya don’t have ta answer me if ya don’t wanna, I’m just—“

  
“I was running away,” he was cut off, but the man’s eyes were still on his bowl instead of on the person he is addressing, “from pursuers. I wasn’t usually that careless either but— something happened before my escape and, well, I suppose you can say I was extremely distracted,”

  
“Pursuers?” the cowboy asked, before remembering the predicament that landed him in this situation, “Wait, those Shimada Yakuza guys? You were the one they were after?”

  
There’s a soft gasp, and if anything, the man looks even paler, “You knew of the Shimada?”

  
Yeah, obviously, helped took the empire down and got the leader’s kid as my best buddy. Instead he said, “The receptionist warned me about ‘em. And I heard it around the bounty circles,” which is a half truth, but who is he hurting? “What, you got a bounty on the leader or something?”

  
“The Shimada clan does not have a leader since the death of it’s previous one,” the answer came almost automatically, and there is a degree of emotion there, almost as if there is something deeper there than a simple bounty like McCree had suggested, “But no, i was not there for any kind of business. Rather, I have a— personal errand,” he shook his head, hair dangling and flowing prettily - in McCree’s opinion along with his head’s movement, “It was then that I discovered something shocking. Usually, I would not be so careless as to letting some thug graze me with a bullet,”

  
“I’d say that was more than a graze, darlin’,” McCree returned, angling his head slightly to take a look at the wound underneath the blanket, “More like a through an’ through,”

  
The dry glare sent his way suddenly felt nostalgic, “Must you? I have told you once that I do not wish to be referred to as such,” It might suppose to be intimidating, but between the worrying paleness and how McCree had categorized every frown this man had as adorable, it looked more like a displeased glower than anything else, much like one a kitten would give you.

  
So instead, he grinned, putting his now empty bowl away, “Then tell me your name. When I find you again, remember?”

  
The glare softened, and McCree took a degree of glee to that. It’s been two long years, and he won’t even pretend he hadn’t tried to make an effort and ask around - although to be fair ‘have you seen a pretty asian bounty hunter with long dark hair and a killer glare’ was not really a helpful line of questioning. Now, presented with the best coincidence in his life, Jesse McCree is not one to look at a gift horse in the mouth.

  
The next line that came from the beauty of his dreams were less than satisfying, however, “What will you gain from knowing my name? I am grateful you have saved my life, but sort of chance meeting is rare as it is. Perhaps we might not meet again in the future,”

  
“Why not?” the taller of the two asked, curious eyes boring down to hesitant ones, “I mean, we already meet again, so it can’t be that rare, and you’re still injured so there’s no way you’re leavin’ my sight ‘till yer feelin’ better. So ya might be here for a while and me ain’t got any names to go by other than darlin’ or the-guy-that-saved-my-life-and-now-I've-saved-in-return, which can be a mouthful,”

  
“I do not plan to stay in Hanamura long, and I do not wish to intrude—“

  
“Pssh, I'm here on a vacation, I'll follow ya if I have to. Besides,” standing up, Jesse walked over to the futon in two stride and plop down next to the confused raven haired man, a grin on his face and a leer on his eyes, “Ya really think that now I found ya again, I’m gonna let you go that easy, injured or not?”

  
The confused look turned alarmed for a moment, before the porcelain like skin flushed red. For a stern guy, he’s pretty expressive ain’t he, McCree thought gleefully.

  
“We have only met once before,” was mumbled to him, which McCree answered with a hum, finding the smaller man’s eyes earnestly.

  
“And ain’t it some meet cute; me almost kicking the bucket, and you swoopin’ into my rescue like some vengeful angel,” without breaking eye contact, he put away the half eaten ramen bowl on the floor, using the now available space to creep in closer. There is no resistance. McCree did a happy jig internally, “And now, I returned the favor. Whaddaya say? We made a pretty good team already,”

  
“I have never heard of bounty hunters working in a team,”

  
“Bullshit, there’s gotta be some. And if there aren’t we could start one,”

  
There is a glint in the asian man’s eyes that tells McCree that he was entertaining the notion. They’re both bounty hunters, they both evidently had been in this profession for a while, and McCree really, really mean it when he said he didn’t want to let this chance go. It might not just be his physical attraction to this handsome man, and it definitely had to do with the gratitude over being saved 2 years prior, or it might just be that deep down inside, Jesse McCree longs for a companion, after being too used to be surrounded by people he knew from both Deadlock and Blackwatch.

  
Either way, one of those reasons made his heart actually leap to his throat when the raven haired man shook his head and mumbled ‘i know I will come to regret this’ under his breath, “That’s the spirit, darlin’!”

  
“I thought I ask not a moment ago for you to forgo that ridiculous nickname, Jesse McCree,”

  
“Then tell me your name! I’ve given you mine - which by the way, you do know you can just call me Jesse right? Jesse and McCree do not have to mutually appear together, that’s the point of having a first and last name,”

  
“I am regretting this choice already. I forgot how much you can talk, Jes— McCree,” the name disappoint him a little - he wondered how it’ll sound like if he just calls him Jesse - but it didn’t long last when the man met his eyes, amber orbs dancing a little under the bright light that is the hotels’ bedroom lighting, “My name is Hanzo. Please take care of me from now on, McCree,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny thing about Hanzo's end dialogue is that i wanted him to say something close to the meaning of yoroshiku onegashimasu (essentially a greeting in japanese that you say when you first meet someone and one of the meaning is what he said in the fic) then as i type it i keep on having this image in my mind of McCree replying 'yeah, i'd take care of you' or something equally lecherous. 
> 
> So instead of 'nice to meet you' or 'i'm counting on you' considering it is the most common english translation used for that line, i just have to write 'please take care of me' because i like the image of what happen after i cut the scene just right there.
> 
> I'm rambling, sorry, but i'm just too amused. Anyway, thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They found Genji's brother and McCree found a horrible truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like i should put another disclaimer to say that again, beyond the trailer and games, i have not seen any other media and is unfamiliar with the extended lore. Anything i had written is just mostly headcanon and my own theories. Mostly.
> 
> Oh, and warning for sexual content.
> 
> Anyway, i hope you enjoy this latest one!

**PRESENT - ????**

  
According to the layout blueprint, the containment area was spread into 3 different blocks, and as McCree and Morrison made their way through, the deeper they went, the more gory evidence present themselves as to what had happened before they got here. McCree had half a mind to call the other three to abandon their section, but Morrison had stopped him, wanting to be thorough at the prospect of a survivor.

  
“Besides,” he continued without looking away from a door blasted in a single shot by Pulse Gun, “we don’t really know if it’s indeed safe down there. Best we scout ahead and keep the casualty to a minimum,”

  
And McCree couldn’t argue with that, not even at the implication that he’d be one of the casualties.

  
The door cells here hid much more than the ones they found near the entrance; wall splattered from wall to wall with blood, dying messages, someone counting the days by marking the walls with their fingernails, and on one cell, McCree found three bullet markings on one side of the wall and a rotting flesh on the other. The door to that cell had dents coming from the inside, like someone is desperately trying to escape.

  
It was horrible, and he chews the end of his cigarillo when his thought went to Amelie, and now Genji’s brother and what both of them must’ve faced.

  
To distract himself, as he reloaded Peacekeeper, McCree ground his weight on one heel and turned to Morrison, “So what do you make of all a’ this?”

  
He briefly wondered if the older man had been unable to hear him, but he watched blue and white-clad body stopped, before his gaze is met with red visor, “I’m starting to think that it’s not a coincidence,” he stopped, rummaging his pack for ammo and replaced the now empty cartridge with a new, glowing one. McCree’s eyes never left the side of his ex-commanders profile, waiting for an elaboration, “First it was Amelie Lacroix, then Ga— Reyes, and now Genji’s brother. Talon is deliberately collecting our personnel’s family and loved ones for whatever reason,”

  
Family and loved ones. Gerard’s loving wife and Genji’s estranged brother. McCree wondered which one of that two category falls for Morrison and Reyes, of which of those two did they both think they fall under before this, before Switzerland, “Maybe there're others,”

  
“There might be, but we read the same file, McCree. It’s just Amelie and Reyes who earned the special treatment of brainwashing and physical alterations,”

  
It’s just Amelie, McCree wanted to reply, Reyes’ name was nowhere around that folder and we know for damn sure he wasn’t brainwashed in any way. But he kept his tongue in check, knowing this is not the time and place to open that particular can of worm. The last time he had this debate with Morrison had been an ugly sight; Winston, Torbjorn and Zarya had been on site while Reinhardt had kept them away from each other. It had been the angriest he was to the ex Overwatch commander, ugly words were thrown (“Why won’t you just accept the truth?!”, ”I’m trying to keep a neutral and logical possibility for a comrade!”, “No, you wanted to be delusional because your logic flew out of the window along with Reyes’ sanity long time ago!”) and they ended up not speaking to each other for nearly 2 months before a near dead situation brought them back to the begrudging camaraderie and understanding.

  
So if Jack Morrison is not going to mention about McCree’s entirely justified feeling of anger and betrayal to his ex-commander, then Jesse McCree is not going to stop Morrison from deluding himself like the idealistic man he was and always will be no matter how much he tries to deny.

  
Shooting down another lock - traditional padlocks, which is why they had to sort to the primitive way instead of disconnecting a mainframe that otherwise would’ve control these doors - McCree took a peek at the gory sight inside before shaking his head and moving on, “So you have a theory then?”

  
“I have,” the answer came immediately, and it made the cowboy wondered just how long had Morrison mulled it over that he had no hesitations in sharing it, “Amelie’s first order had been to kill Gerard - in his sleep on less, catching us off guard. Ana lost her eye in the pursue due to her surprise and even then she hesitated. Same with us most of the time; Lena made it clear she would not harm Amelie to the point of killing, and that is extremely damaging to our offense,”

  
He waited, but the second theory with Reyes does not come. McCree had to wonder if it’s because Morrison was tiptoeing the issue as he was, or is it because Jack Morrison’s mind has yet to convince even himself, “And now they found out about an elder Shimada sibling, conveniently with a ready set of skills if Genji’s to be believed,”

  
McCree thanks his stars that he had been an orphan, and he had little to no idea as to who his real parents had been. Even the nice caretakers back in the orphanage was now nothing but distant memories, and there’s nobody in Deadlock Gang that he would loose sleep over if he was sent to kill them. While he and Amelie had been amicable enough, with him being in Blackwatch, she had been more of an acquaintance than an actual close friend. And even Reyes is debatable despite his outspoken hatred. He couldn’t imagine what it’ll feel like if he had to kill someone he cares so deeply for.

  
His went wandered to a small house, built by his own two hands, to rare but affectionate smile and much more common exasperated tone full of love. He remembered the body he had spent so much time exploring he knew every crevice and scar, of hands clasp into his, of everlasting promise, of the scarf laid on his pillow in his bedroom, scent long gone, and a ring he took off, locked away and never had the bravery to even look at anymore.

  
He imagined if he had to see that, to see the eyes that always looked at him with hidden joy turns as dead as Amelie’s, his those dextrous hands ever reach out to stop his breathing rather than feeling his beating heartbeat, of deep, lovely accented voice that always calls him in the most wonderful way turn as hateful as Reyes’ abundant declaration of wanting his demise.

  
But then he gets to see him again. He doesn’t want to see that cruel parody if he could help it - doesn’t want to think of the one person that matters to him the most in this whole wide world of being tortured and turned like that against his will - but at least he could see him again before he kicks it.

  
“McCree?”

  
“’s’all fucked up,” the cigarillo has been burnt to its minimal size, and McCree spat it out before stomping on it. He didn’t want to look up, not when his eyes is burning, knowing that Morrison is looking his way, didn’t want to part with the cover his hat graciously gave him from prying, almost all seeing eyes, “Talon’s fucked up, this, this whole thing is fucked up,”

  
Once again, McCree thanked his lucky stars that he was here with Morrison instead of Lena or even Genji, who for all of their friendliness and eagerness, found it so damn hard to read the situation and be subtle. He knows everyone in Overwatch has questions, knows they all think he’s different somehow. Lena, Genji and even Angela often tries to pry this out of him, to find out what had happened to him, but he could only tell them that 20 years is a long time for a man to live.

  
After all, in 10 years span of time, he found joy, reason to live, only to lost it all in a blink of an eye. He’s still trying to get it back, he’s still looking, searching, hoping, but McCree is an old man now, as much as he hates to admit it, old enough to know that hoping does jack shit.

 

* * *

 

  
**5 YEARS AGO - MIDWEST, USA**

  
One of the joys in Jesse McCree’s life nowadays was pointing out sleepily that it’s raining cats and dogs outside, only to hear the body next to him shifting, pointedly looking outside of the windows and hear a confused, “No, it is water that is pouring out. Not animals. Is the pain making you delirious?”

  
The hunt that day had been rough, in a sense that everything had gone smoothly, but it didn’t leave them without any leftover scars to tend. McCree had his shoulder stiffly bandaged, and the alcohol Hanzo had forced to his system to dull the pain is slowly starting to wane away. Their last target had been particularly trigger happy, and it took one of Hanzo’s scatter arrows and McCree’s Deadeye to stop the seemingly unending rain of bullets.

  
Of course, in his hurry, a bullet had lodged itself to the cowboy’s shoulder, and all the way from the site back to the rundown hotel they holed themselves in Hanzo would not stop worrying over this. Not that McCree minded; it’s terribly cute and endearing, to see the normally composed japanese man brought to concerned babbling and skittish shuffling trying to tend to him. He wished the display comes at a lesser price that does not include searing pain, but McCree’s a simple man who’s gonna take what he can get.

  
Also, one of the drawbacks of being wounded is that in Hanzo’s worries, he seems to also think that being hurt in one place means McCree must be hurting everywhere, and thus shoved away any of his attempt to initiate their almost habitual celebratory sex. So currently, instead of being under him or bouncing on his lap, Hanzo is sitting on the corner of the bed, an assortment of cleaning agent on the bedside table and both his bow and McCree’s Peacekeeper laid out, taken apart to be cleaned.

  
McCree wondered just how long has this entire domestic scene runs between them; on normal circumstances, he would only allow a select group of people to touch his precious weapon, but right now, sleeping off the last of his gunshot wound’s pain, he’s allowing Hanzo to clean Peacekeeper, trusting him with her hygiene and care for the next time he had to use her.

  
Then again, there’s very little, if anything he hadn’t trust Hanzo about these days. Which is funny considering how Hanzo was still tight lipped about his past (“So, is it that i can’t know your full name because it’s a secret or because you only have one name, like Cher?”, “Is that yet another American slang?”), but in contrary, McCree had told him everything and found himself lighter. He told him of growing up in a backwater town, of joining Deadlock, Overwatch and Blackwatch, and after a particularly painful night full of nightmare, he told him of Ana, Jack and Gabriel, of Switzerland.

  
With every story he divulge, the younger man always had a tiny bit of fear in his mind, thinking that this might be it, this would be the part that he’ll find too much, and Hanzo would leave. But the japanese man would stay lying in front of him, one hand caressing the back of his hand. When Jesse’s story is finished, he would lift that hand, kiss it gently before saying, “It’s all in the past now,” and McCree truly believed it.

  
He never minded Hanzo’s close lipped attitude on his own demons, and he didn’t need an explanation. Everyone deals with their problems differently, including the two of them. He knows Hanzo knows this, and at nights when it gets unbearable to Hanzo, McCree would only have to hold him as he goes through sobbing and hiccups. He would later pretend to sleep, waiting for that sure hand on his cheek, that gentle and soft kiss on his nose, forehead of lips, followed by a whispered japanese words he does not know the meaning of and yet could understand all the same.

  
It’s been 3 years, he thought to himself, 3 long years, and i daresay i couldn’t have chosen a better person to spend them with.

  
And now, eyes still bleary from the remnants of sleep, McCree looked up and found Hanzo’s figure, intently wiping off any marks and dirt on Peacekeeper and something swells inside of McCree’s chest. Something that felt new, yet it’s familiar at the same time. Something like love.

  
He’s such a romantic fool.

  
Hanzo, on his part, had a magnificent awareness to his surrounding, so it didn’t take long for him to stop and turned his gaze to a pair of misty eyes, “Why are you staring at me?”

  
“Sweetcakes,”

  
The stare turns into a glare, “Stop referring to me as food. Or animals. Or infants,”

  
“You’re really hot right now, holding my gun like that,” he ignored the scolding, to used to Hanzo’s dislike and admonishing over his nicknaming ability, “Let’s have sex,”

  
“No,”

  
“Pleeeeease?”

  
“You are injured. I do not wish to cause more pain to you,”

  
“My balls are in pain, babe,”

  
“Must you be so crude?”

  
“Will you keep on saying no?”

  
Once again, Hanzo glared at him, but McCree count it as a win and almost whooped in victory when the older man puts Peacekeeper away and started climbing the bed, “Now that’s what i’m talkin’ bout,” he cheered, hands already propped to grip on Hanzo’s hips when they were slapped away, “Aww,”

  
“Silence. You are not to move your arms, or else you will aggravate your injuries,” but McCree didn’t pay those words any attention, not when Hanzo pulled his blanket away and seated himself on McCree’s naked stomach. He wasn’t wearing any pants, a habit that delighted McCree to no end when he first found out, but his Kyudo-gi was still on, untied, and he wore what seems to be a traditional japanese underwear McCree couldn’t exactly pronounce correctly. The texture was brushing against the thick hair of his trails, along with the smooth skin of Hanzo’s inner thigh, and the cowboy purred happily.

  
Hanzo’s hair was loose from it’s usual knot, and the kinks from said knot made the bottom of his locks wavy, curling around his face. It made him look slightly younger, and McCree cursed the fact that he can’t exactly run his hand through them at the moment, “How do you want to do this?” the older man asked, his voice already thick with arousal. Evidently, from how close the swell of his ass is to McCree’s crotch, he probably could feel that the cowboy’s more than ready to go.

  
“Hell, darlin’, with you looking like this you can put on a one-man show and I'm still gonna cum without even lifting a finger,”

  
The growl Hanzo gave him was misleading in a way that it could be interpreted as a disapproval to the nickname or that McCree’s words got him all hot and bothered too.

  
It ended up with Hanzo taking him seriously, not that McCree was in any way complaining. There were no readily used lubricant around them, so Hanzo had made do with his saliva, and after two fingers he became creative with his and McCree’s accumulating pre-cum. McCree almost made do with his promise, considering how hard he felt just by watching his partner in both the field and in bed slowly fingering himself open and occasionally tugging on his very red and very interested erection.

  
The first time they made love, Hanzo had both surprised and delighted him by admitting that he had never had a sexual relation before, not to both women or men. He never elaborate as to why - though he sometimes mumbled something about not being able to trust people in his position - and it clearly shows when they finally did the dirty do; McCree ended up doing all the work, he was fumbling through everything, there had been premature ejaculation more than once through the whole process, and overall, it wasn’t really a good sex experience.

  
He had tried to laugh it off then, since clearly Hanzo was beating himself over it - and honestly he was just too happy to finally done it with the beauty in his dreams to care whether or not its good - but sometimes McCree suspected if that first time had been the reason why instead of him, it was Hanzo who took the first initiative more often. It hadn’t been much in the beginning; handjobs, blowjobs, even shy frothing, but oh lord, if those innocent - as innocent as a sexual gestures could be - beginnings hadn’t been the gate for something a lot more sinister.

  
3 years now, and McCree wouldn’t say that Hanzo is addicted, but boy, had he gotten Hanzo addicted.

  
And very, very, oh, boy howdy, so very good at it.

  
He hadn’t even notice when his underwear was flung to the other end of the hotel room, but McCree does notice when a very hot furnace suddenly wrap itself around his dick. It didn’t even embarrass him to hear himself making a surprised keen noise because the sight of a panting, flushed Hanzo looking down at him was of so distracting.

  
The older man was significantly smaller than he is stature-wise, and even for a man of his heritage, McCree knew for a fact that he ain’t small. So there is just something exhilarating at watching his impressive length disappearing through that tight hole, into that small(er) trembling frame. It is even more arousing on how Hanzo took him in like a champ, first in calculated and athletic twist and snap of his hips before the animalistic abandon took over and it was just an incredibly hot mess and it was all for Jesse McCree, luckiest man in the world’s personal viewing.

  
“Yeah, baby,” the cowboy managed to say through groans and hisses, and it is evident just how far lost Hanzo is when he say nothing of the nickname nor the fact that McCree has been holding on to his hips for a while now, “Jus’ like that, darlin’, god, you’re so good,”

  
Hanzo’s reply had been a series of breathy moans, as well as a variation of the word ‘Jesse’ caused by breathlessness. He was beautiful with his usual sharp eyes and even sharper words, but like this, all of his defences melting down and his constraints a distant memory, he was a god in which only McCree was his worshipper, tracing every line of his tattoo and the hard planes of his torso, eyes never leaving those rolled back eyes, the slacking lips and trails of sweat. McCree’s life led him to believe he could and probably would die at any given time, but if a stray bullet took his life now, he won’t even have any regrets.

  
Hanzo, his Hanzo, he would do anything, everything for this beautiful creature.

 

* * *

 

  
“I told you we shouldn’t have done that,”

  
The new bandage currently wrapped around his shoulder was a far cry compared to its predecessor, but McCree wasn’t too worried, as evident by the large grin on his face, watching Hanzo’s buck naked form striding from the bedside to the bathroom, where the trashcan was, to throw the dirty and stained old bandages away. He took in the mid shoulder length hair, of that strong, muscled back, those dainty legs surprisingly fitting to the rest of the toned body, and grinned even wider when he caught glistening fluid dripping down between said legs.

  
“And missed out on our daily sex celebration for a job well done? Not even if I’m hanging on a thread, angelcakes,”

  
This statement made Hanzo glare at him, but McCree wasn’t too worried, nor was his particularly apologetic. Its a habit between them: Hanzo would admonish him, he’d say something stupid, Hanzo’ll berate him and McCree would give a half-hearted apologize while patting his back for a job well done because an irritated Hanzo is an attractive Hanzo, right up there with sexed up Hanzo and deeply pleased Hanzo, amongst his other expressions.

  
But it didn’t came, Hanzo was still glaring at him, but the intensity slowly dies away, replaced by a somber, almost sad look. McCree’s grin dropped faster than one dropped a hot stone, “Darlin’? Hanzo?”

  
The Japanese man crossed his arms, the tattoo on his arms flexed along with the movement, “You almost were, Jesse. You almost were,”

  
The shot had been aimed at his chest, where his heart is, and only by sheer dumb luck did McCree managed to duck and the bullet ended up inside of his shoulder. It wasn’t an uncommon thing to happen before he met Hanzo, back when he first started in this sort of world in Deadlock, and he’s sure that it wouldn’t stop anytime soon. Hanzo knows that, he’s not exactly immune to scars and wounds himself.

  
He told this to Hanzo, who became silent, looked down to his feet and crossed his arms, “The last time i had a nightmare,” he said quietly, almost too quiet for McCree to catch, “It was of the same thing, of… of my sordid past. But somehow it was different,”

  
McCree didn’t reply. He patiently stared at Hanzo, urging him to continue. It took him a while to do so, and when he did, the slight choking in his voice wasn’t missed by the cowboy, “It was always of— of someone i deeply cared of dying in front of my eyes. And the worst thing was, that was not a dream. It was a memory i knew by heart,”

  
All thoughts of teasing went flying away from McCree’s mind. Hanzo never, ever, offered to tell him of his past. Silently, he waved his hand to catch the older man’s attention and patted the empty space on the bed. Hanzo seemed hesitant before coming, and once he was on the bed, he didn’t take the offered space. No, he sits close enough to McCree’s temporarily prone form and lay down next to him. He didn’t even fight or protested when the brunet placed his - uninjured - arm around him.

  
“I did something horrible in the past, something i have never forgiven myself for doing,” the light of his life started, and the timidness in his voice reminded McCree of his own’s whenever he wished to share something of Blackwatch’s days to Hanzo. Every time, Hanzo took everything he said in a stride, patiently waiting. This time, McCree swore to do the same, “When i realize what i have done, i panicked, and i left everything i have ever known and loved and ran away without any clear destination in mind,”

  
Hanzo’s breath hitched and he hid his face in McCree’s chest, which he did not stop. They had all the time in the world, Hanzo is free to take as much time as he needed, “I exiled myself, i swore i would never wield the same weapon i had used to commit that terrible act, and in my wandering, it was not rare that the guilt become so much i wish i could simply end my life there and then. I never believed in an afterlife, but for once, i wish it was real so that i can find my brother and apologize,”

  
Far be it for McCree to stop him now and point out the slip of tongue. Instead, he held Hanzo tighter, let him to drown his sobs with his naked chest. The rain outside seems to come down even harder, accentuating their current situation, “Go on,” he coaxed instead, running his mechanical hand through Hanzo’s raven locks, paying particular attention to the slowly growing premature grey hair on the side of his temple.

  
A shuddering intake of breath, “The day you found me, i found out that i was mistaken. The crime i thought i had committed never happened, and he told me— He told me that he had forgiven me. Everything i did, after all i did, and he had so easily forgiven me,” Hanzo shuddered once more, his shoulder trembling, and when he began, he speaks in japanese, only a few words McCree did not understand, but could feel the deep conflicted emotion within it, “He had always been foolish, but i never thought he would be that foolish. I had even given him the chance to exact his revenge, i was so ready— But he didn’t take it,”

  
It didn’t take long for McCree to understand that Hanzo is not narrating a story to him anymore; he’s reliving that memory, his mind is running its own course and maybe he had even forgotten that he is in the embrace of a man instead of being wherever he was back then in Hanamura, before McCree found him. He even wondered if Hanzo realized he started speaking in japanese, something he had long ago figured out was a tick that happened whenever he was feeling something to it’s extremities. This time, it was sorrow.

  
And yet, McCree didn’t stop him.

  
Then, Hanzo placed his hand on McCree’s cheek, his pale skin a contrast to McCree’s sun kissed ones, “I never realized what it is that he meant. After my exile, i had lived my life throwing myself into danger because if i cannot exact my own demise i can at least count on something else to do it for me, no matter how cowardly it may sound. I live without any other purpose, filled with sorrow, grief and anger to myself,” his eyes was glistening and the rim red, and to McCree, Hanzo was never more beautiful as he spoke, “Until the day you saved me,”

 

* * *

 

**PRESENT - ????**

  
McCree is starting to run low on ammo, but at this point, he’s just looking forward to that because without his gun, he’d be able to use force and probably then he’d be able to blow some steam.

  
It’s been more than an hour since their first search, and more and more horrific findings had made each Overwatch members hurry along in hope to save just one life. Angela had found and translated the rest of the paper in the laboratory, detailing the sort of experiment and horror Talon had inflicted towards Genji’s brother. Although the man himself is only a couple hundred foot away from him, McCree thought that hearing Genji’s rage and subsequent despair was heart wrenching enough.

  
And the way he keeps on calling on the comm; Anija, Anija, please wait for me, please, please, please, be alive, Aniue, Onii-sama, i’m begging you, Onii-chan, please, i’m coming. Even the prolific japanese words were easy to understand at this point.

  
Nobody stopped him, and nobody lest of all Fareeha and Reinhardt that nearby seemed to have the heart to tell him that his comm is still on and everyone can hear him.

  
From the corner of his eyes, McCree could also tell that the same goes for Morrison. The veteran seems out of breath with the way he tries to sped up the process of prying more doors open, and with every negatory response from their teammates over any sighting seems to deflate him even more. He’s disappointing his agent - never mind that he’s not their commander anymore - and it’s killing him.

  
“How fucking big can this place be and why the fuck would they need these many cells?” McCree groused, and harshly kicked the remnants of the last door away when he was met with another bloody mess and no sight of Genji’s brother.

  
A few feet away from him, Morrison shook his head, “This isn’t working,” he rasped, almost full blown panting. His Pulse Gun has been out of ammo for a while now and he seems to get the same idea as McCree, using sheer brute force and his now clunky Gun to slam the padlocks into submission. No matter how fit he is, in the end, it seems to remind McCree that Jack Morrison had grown old after all.

  
“Yeah? What do you suggest we do?”

  
“I suggest we think, Jesse,” Morrison replied, flinging the latest door open and sure enough, no one is inside, “We are all frantic because of the arbitrary timer we have over our head—“

  
“Arbitrary timer? Fuck, Morrison, Genji’s brother might be around here and in danger—“

  
“—But it would save our time, and his, if we just took a second to think about it,” the older man continued as if McCree hadn’t interrupted him, leaning against the wall. He looked nonchalant at first glance, but McCree knew him long enough to know that his tired posturing is just looking for some place to rest without looking like he’s fully slacking off, a classic military man, “Based on what we found so far, Talon’s been keeping a lot of prisoners and they’ve all perished. We had record on precisely none of them, and yet we have one on Genji’s brother,”

  
The angry side in McCree, mind still ringing fully with Genji’s almost childlike pleading for his brother’s survival wanted to tell the old man off for wasting their time. But he shoved it away, because he was no longer than hot headed teen he once was. Morrison might have a point, “So he’s an important subject. If your theory from earlier was right, he was picked off personally and these guys,” he pointed to the empty cells they had spent so much energy in prying open, “Were simply test subjects, very disposable,”

  
The thought of it made him grit his teeth in contempt, but this is not the time; not when there’s a chance someone’s life is riding on their ability to find him.

  
“And if he’s that important, they probably had him secured somewhere, somewhere much more secure than a padlocked cell,”

  
McCree and Morrison cursed almost at the same time. With the speed a man his age rarely maintain, Morrison turned his comm on and McCree checked on the amount of bullet he had left, “Winston, check the blueprint and tell me which room has the most security in this building,”

  
Winston’s reply had been thankfully quick, but every second’s a wasting for McCree, “The level 3 laboratory. We didn’t assign anyone up there because the place is locked down according to the blueprint and it might be dangerous. I could disable the alarms and locks from where i am, but—“

  
“I’m on it,” McCree shouted loud enough to be heard through Morrison’s comm, “I’ll be there in about 3 minutes, Winston. I need to have all of those disabled now,” to Morrison, he said, “Take a breather old man, you look like you need it,” without waiting for any sort of reply and ignoring Winston’s confused questionings, McCree quickly made his way out of the containment cell, running through the same path he took, and sure enough, Reinhardt, Genji and Fareeha were there, looking at him quizzically.

  
“Morrison’s down there, and there’s a shitload a stuff ya can help him with,” and without stopping, he pulled on Genji’s arm, “Come with me. There’s a chance that your brother is now down here, but in a different place. We gotta go there now,”

  
Genji followed him without a word, and in a few steps already overtook him by far, damn cyborg ninja. The path was pretty straightforward, and by the time the cowboy finally caught up to Genji, the younger man already has his sword out. “How much longer, Winston?!” he screamed to his comm, their usually gentle-mannered resident ninja. His mask was back on it’s place, but McCree could imagine his angry frown when Winston mentioned a snag on the system.

  
He shouted something in Japanese, and in a flash of eye, the previously locked scanner on the side of the lab’s door was sparkling while 3 shurikens were embed deep inside of it. Miracles of miracles, it worked. The door is now unlocked, and evidently the speed of it moving was too slow for a vengeful Genji Shimada because the cyborg pried it open and crushed the side of it with his hand.

  
McCree completely understood him, but following behind, he was also amazed at the amount of power a human being could produce only with the help of a very strong emotion.

  
The lab was unlike the one he had inspected with Genji and Angela; instead of filled with tables, chemical bottles and papers it was mostly empty with monitor screens on the side, a camera, and a sectioned audience room, seemingly where people would gather to watch whatever it is displayed beyond the mirror that separate that room with the large one beyond it.

  
In that large empty room, chained on the middle as if he was some sort of a wild animal was a figure that was cradled by a frantic Genji, blood both fresh and old pooling around him like it was poured on him and it wasn’t pouring from him. From where he stood, McCree could also see a pair of legs sewn messily off on the joint - the source of the blood - and far from the two figure was what seems to be remnants of mechanical device of sorts, shaped like legs.

  
McCree stepped closer, and faltered when his arm, his mechanical arm let out the same pounding pain it did this morning, when he decided something is waiting for him throughout the day and he’s not going to like it. He rubbed the joining crevice where his flesh and the metal arm met. Is this his surprise? His bad news for the day?

  
His musing was brought back to Genji, who was close to sobbing and the shouting from his comm. A variation of orders from Morrison, Angela’s confirmation that she is on her way, and even Genji’s voice from a few feet away from him.

  
Genji, who was still cradling his brother’s broken form, speaking in a mixture of Japanese and English, and kept on repeating a name. Hanzo.

  
McCree knows it was impossible. It can’t be that easy. At the same time, fate, god, life, they can’t be this cruel to him.

 

 

* * *

 

  
**5 YEARS AGO - MIDWEST, USA**

  
“I had expected to die in that alley, thinking that it was a suitable one for me. My brother told me to forgive myself, but how could i?” Hanzo’s voice was full of pain, and it tug on McCree’s heart endlessly. He cupped the hand on his cheek, rubbing along and feeling the difference in size between his and Hanzo’s before trailing down to his arm. It was not the arm with the tattoo on it, and while he liked tracing the magnificent dragon, he also liked the older’s pure and untainted skin, feeling contrast of the softness of skin and hard forms of muscles.

  
“Then you came. You saved me, took care of me, and for a while i followed you because i thought i was indebted to you and i have no other purpose,” he shook his head, dark hair fanning over the coarse mattress underneath them as the result, “But you— You changed all of that. For once, i actually wanted to live, if only just to see you every day. I thought of my brother’s words every day, of redemption, of forgiveness, and without even meaning to, you slowly taught me of what he meant,”

  
Hanzo’s eyes began to water again, a single drop already making it’s way from his eyes to his cheekbone and down to the matress into nothing more but a darkened spot, “You told me stories, of you, of your past, and the more i know of them, the more i am amazed that despite them all, here you are. I began to understand that maybe that was what my brother wanted me to do, to keep on living despite everything. You didn’t let anything anchor you, you didn’t let your past rule over you like i had lived my life before i met you. And in time, that amazement changed,”

  
The arm under McCree’s hand trembled, the hand on his cheek moving down to his chest and curling itself into a ball, fingernails gently scraping his skin, “I—“ the shorter man gasped, as McCree tightened his hold around him, wanting to feel him closer, even closer, “Mc— Jesse, it was then I realized I have fallen in love with you,”

  
“Hanzo,” was all McCree managed to say, before he was being pulled down to the smaller body in his embrace, lips against his with the intensity that left his mind swirling out of control. He held even closer to Hanzo’s body, burying his hand into his locks and ignoring the pain on his shoulder as he try to engulf the entirety of Hanzo into himself.

  
It was over all too soon, but it did, and McCree found himself staring down to watery eyes, “The nightmare i had, the one that has been plaguing my mind, it was of you,” Hanzo said sombrely, “I saw you dying in front of me, and all i could so was watch. I— it scared me so bad, the thought of loosing you was so bad that—“ he shook his head, hair flailing every where as he did, “But you have done so much for me that i couldn’t ask anymore out of you. And at the same time i do not wish to leave you, but after today— it’s.— it’s just—,”

  
“Han, darlin’,” McCree cuts him off, noticing just how Hanzo slowly grew frantic, “Just tell me. What is it?”

  
It seems to do the trick, and Hanzo took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut, before he opened them again and tears started falling. Not once in the whole 3 years he had known Hanzo had he seen the other man openly crying, and McCree felt guilty over how much he adored this vulnerability, that he was given the privilege to see it, that Hanzo trust him, love him this much, “I want to stop rushing into danger, having to face every day with the possibility that i might loose you. I just, as childish as it sounds, i just wanted to live normally, peacefully, somewhere i do not have to worry about certain death taking you away from me,”

  
It was almost too much for Jesse McCree’s poor old romantic heart. Here it is the love of his life, confessing everything, pouring out all of his worries, “You want us to retire,” he said, more as a statement and less as a question. Hanzo nodded, looking younger without him trying to repress his emotion, with his hair splayed gorgeously, and McCree just loved him so, so much that without even thinking, he pressed his forehead against Hanzo’s and said, “Okay, then we are officially retiring from bounty hunting,”

  
“Really?” the sheer disbelief in Hanzo’s voice made McCree wanted to preen, because how often does he make him sound so breathless and happy, “You— Jesse, you would do that for me?”

  
“Hanzo, i love you,” it was not the first time McCree said it, but it was the first time that Hanzo intently listened to him, all of his attention to him without ducking out due to embarrassment or scoff his flippant attitude in love declaration. Good, because like all the other time he said it, no matter what Hanzo said, he does mean it, “I’d go to hell and back for you, take the moon, anything you’d want. You’d think i would pass the chance to be able to retire early to grow old with you?”

  
His declaration was met with more tears, and a deep kiss that he soon drowned himself in to. During their next round of love making, McCree caught sight of Peacekeeper and Storm Bow, still laid on the bedside table and placed part by part meticulously. He grinned, mentally saluted them before raising up despite his groaning injury to hold Hanzo tight.

  
When he slinked off that night to the town as Hanzo slept off the exhaustion from numerous rounds of sex, McCree found himself in a jewelry store, came out with a lighter wallet and significantly heavier pocket and decided that through all of the big, life-changing decisions he had made that day, Jesse McCree, 32 years old, ex Deadlock Gang member, ex Overwatch operative, bounty hunter and soon-to-be-retiree does not regret any single one of them.

  
He made his way back to the hotel that night with a giant smile and a knowledge that his future from then one would be a bright one.

 

* * *

 

**PRESENT - ????**

  
The pain on his arm grew hotter. Jesse McCree took another step. Genji seems to sense him finally, and turned, gripping the headful of hair - raven, streaked with gray - in his arm even tighter. He is saying something, McCree was sure, because he is moving, animated, unlike the person he is holding.

  
The person whose face is mostly matted with sweat, dark hair, bruises and specks of blood, unrecognizable and yet McCree could always tell. He would always know, he somehow already did even before he looked.

  
Raven hair, amber eyes, loose leaf tea, ring he bought with almost all of his money share, and a devotion so deep he’s still drowning in it a year later.

  
In Genji’s arm was Hanzo, his Hanzo, the man he loved more than the world itself, his world, his love, his entire life.

  
It never did register to McCree that the inhuman scream echoing through the building was his own.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think actually happen beforehand? Hope whatever it is, i meet up with your expectations, haha. 
> 
> On a side note, i know that canonically Hanzo's legs are flesh, but idk, i was getting so attached with the prosthetics before the confirmation came out. i'm a sucker for injured characters, in case you can't tell yet.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1 Year Ago, Midwest, USA.
> 
> Also known as the day Jesse McCree's dream ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick update (well, a quick 5000 word update) because, while i do know what is going to happen next, i'm mostly unsatisfied with the continuation of this, and i guess i just wanted to see the reaction first to gauge the best way possible to continue.
> 
> Please enjoy!

  
**1 YEARS AGO - MIDWEST, USA**

  
Leaving behind the life they both had led for the last decade had seemed easier said than done, until it turned out to be just that easy; They turned in the latest bounty to the latest post, and when they refused the offer for a next one, they had been met with confused but often understanding gazes. The clerk had even wished them good luck, and they both stepped out of the office richer in money and lighter in burden.

  
Finding a place to start a new life together, however, had been on the list of things that are difficult for them to compromise. Hanzo had always been frugal, but he was especially so this time, which clashes with Jesse’s wish to splurge on the first aspect that marks the big change in their life. Pleading that he only had Hanzo’s best interest in mind had been met with scoffs, and Hanzo’s every reasoning that he barely cared about how their new home would look like is met with objection from McCree, a romantic by heart.

  
In the end, it was after 3 weeks of spending money on a motel room and by sheer coincidence did they find the perfect place; It had been a rundown ranch previously owned by an old couple who wished to sell it quickly since they’re moving to live with their children. The place was old and in dire need of fixing, too far away from the general population for it to be ideal for a normal family, but for two bounty hunters with bounty on their own heads, it was perfect. And to further save their money, both Jesse and Hanzo fixed the place themselves, and the cowboy even channeled his long forgotten inner carpenter to make some of the furnitures himself.

  
It took close to 2 months for the old place to be somewhat liveable again, but it was their home, somewhere they could both belong.

  
They celebrate the ‘grand opening’ of their new house by christening every surface possible, starting from making out on the new and polished porch, to the second-hand sofa in the living room, to the now sparkling kitchen, even the small closet where they put away their arsenal, and finally ending up in the single bedroom, tasting, exploring as if it was their first and last time.

  
Hanzo ended up grumpy, being barely able to even shift without hurting his cramping waist from all the raunchy and downright animalistic acts they had committed, but Jesse had been more than happy to lift him everywhere for the next 2 days.

  
Their next act had been to grow their own products, courtesy of Jesse’s knowledge from working in the nearest farm for pocket money as a child, and while it took Hanzo a while to get used to doing all of the menial duties - at this point, Jesse’s suspicion that he had been a royalty of sorts before they met is stronger - they wouldn’t trade it for the world. On rare days, they would spend the day in town, actually using the money accumulating in their bank account to treat themselves, and every night they would go back to bed in each other’s arms, the lull of normalcy and mundanity almost making them forget that this isn’t how they had always led their lives.

  
They spent 7 years together; 3 of them as partners working up to become more, and the next 4 living in heaven, with only each other as a company. Hanzo was everything Jesse could ask for in a significant partner, with his ability to call his every bullshit, keeping him grounded, mature, sane through nights of recalling what it had been, and he made no secret of it, telling this his beloved before following it with a barrage of love declaration.

  
It was a blissful life, if rather unconventional. It wasn’t as if it was a perfect life - they had fights, bad days, things they regret saying to each other - but they make it work, because from there on out, Jesse couldn’t imagine a life back to how it is, and he liked to think the same goes for Hanzo as well.

  
Through all of this, Jesse’s pocket felt heavier, almost burning at the sensation of now familiar weight, especially whenever Hanzo is around.

  
He really thought it’ll be easy, but for some reason, Jesse found himself putting it off more and more; his original excuse had been that they were both too busy fixing up the ranch, then that they were trying to salvage the farmland behind it, that he was tired after teaching Hanzo how to use farming tool, and the more he puts it off, the more he comes up with outrageous excuses that sometimes doesn’t even makes sense in his mind. He really wanted to do this, with the ring ready and they even had their own place and a life they had found a rhythm to, but his palm would get sweaty, his mind started racing and Jesse found himself pocketing the ring once more.

  
Then it started when one night, as he laid down on his back, Hanzo’s body warm and steady on his chest and side, Jesse McCree found himself lying awake, not a single trace of smile on his face and think ‘something is wrong’.

  
He felt extremely guilty, but he never told Hanzo of it. Sometimes, he felt his hand itchy, and the slow constant heartbeat in his chest almost felt oppressive; it rarely got any exercise anymore, beyond farming and sex, he thought, so he took on jogging and kept up his shape by building a shooting range on what used to be a silo. Hanzo didn’t object to this, and seems to enjoy it more than he does considering the amount of arrow marks on the straw target he built.

  
But the more he exercised, the more training, the more he held Peacekeeper in his hand, the more he held back from proposing, the more his restless nights grew. It didn’t work.

  
He still tried so hard to hide it away. It made Jesse guilty, the amount of time Hanzo had started asking if he is okay on that rare display of open concern, and that despite their promise that there will be no keeping their thoughts to each other, he had been the one who broke it first. He reasoned it was simply from the isolation they put on themselves, so he initiated more town outings, even accumulate his own drinking buddies who were too drunk to realize the man they were talking with looked similar to one of the faces decorating the bounty office’s posters.

  
Then it all came to peak, 4 years into their retirement, when he came home one day to see Hanzo fiddling with his old Overwatch comm on the living room sofa, his gaze so inscrutable, he felt like a stranger again from the Spanish desert instead of the man he had dedicated his life to for the last 7 year.

  
“Han,” he called out, using the nickname he had developed from years of testing out which one would irritate Hanzo the less, “What are you doing with that?”

  
Hanzo looked surprised, which was surprising on its own considering the amount of time Jesse had tried to get his guard down and surprised him. Figures the one time he succeeded is when he wasn’t trying, “Jesse,” he greeted, a small smile on his lips. Usually, it brought butterflies to his stomach. For some reason, today, it brought dread to the pit of his chest, “You mean this? It was beeping the whole day while you were out. I didn’t dare to touch it in case it was something important,”

  
It didn’t make Jesse feel any better. His old Overwatch comm is receiving signal? What the hell? “It’s probably broken,” he lied, “It is a pretty old thing, after all,”

  
The look Hanzo shot him made him knew he wasn’t fooling no one. But the older man dropped it, as well as the comm and excused himself to go take a shower. Jesse couldn’t even make a joke about joining him, which on a hindsight would’ve made Hanzo even more suspicious than he already was.

  
It’s almost been 20 years since he had touched the thing. A wave of nostalgia filled him immediately, but Jesse held himself back and turned it on, and felt a swelling in his heart when he saw the message.

  
It was from Winston. The message had been short but to the point: Overwatch members are being recalled.

  
He didn’t know how long he was sitting there, staring at the screen, but a hand brought him back, damp as the owner’s. Hanzo didn’t say anything, and even the dripping wet hair, normally enough to bring him to arousal, didn’t lessen the fear in Jesse’s eyes when he caught the sight of Hanzo’s expression.

  
The word out of Hanzo’s mouth had been short, but full of meaning, “It’s not broken,”

  
Jesse couldn’t explain it, but his head is a rush of emotion and thoughts, and all of them was crashing upon each other. They’re recalling Overwatch. Everything around him is everything he had built with his own hand. Based on the message, most of everyone was save and alive. In front of him is the man he loved more than life. They wanted him back to Overwatch, to the field. He loved this place, this house, this life, Hanzo.

  
He wanted to go back, to his old comrades, to see everyone again and feel the rushing adrenaline pumping his blood.

  
He wanted to live the rest of his life here in this field, grow old with Hanzo, his love, his life, never to pick up his gun and take a life anymore.

  
“No it’s not,” he answered finally, gripping the comm harder than he should’ve. The brunet makes his way to the closet, and started rummaging the content, aware of the watchful eyes Hanzo had on him.

  
He emerged with a large jackhammer, used to fix the roof and other tools he uses outside. This time, it’s not gonna be fixing nothing, he thought, swinging it over his shoulder, “But it’s gonna be once I'm done with it,”

  
“Jesse, no,”

  
“What do you mean, no?” in the years they know each other, Jesse hardly ever raise his voice when talking to Hanzo. He understood how it could be enough to make the older stumble in surprise, “I told ya once, Han, I’m done with that, with that life. They wanted some agent runnin’ around now, they better settle with someone else,”

  
He would’ve taken another step if Hanzo’s next line didn’t catch him off guard, “Do you take me for a fool, Jesse McCree? Do you think you could fool me into thinking that you weren’t considering it when you saw the message?”

  
So he had been caught. Jesse took a deep breath and turned to face his lover, “Okay, you’re right, I was considering it,” he confessed, and watched Hanzo’s gaze hardened, “But you know what me wanting to break this thing into pieces mean? It means I’ve considered it, and I decided that staying here with you, in this place we build for ourselves, in this life we both wanted,” without waiting for any sort of reply - mostly because in every debate they had, Hanzo would win and he can’t have that, not this time - Jesse stomped out, placed the comm on a wood chopping block—

  
And simply stared.

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
“You really destroyed that— whatever that thing was?”

  
Jesse stopped unbuckling his pants, the question catching him off guard, “Yeah. Like i told you,” He proceeded without looking towards the bed, hanging his pants to be used again the next day - a habit Hanzo seems to find disgusting before he reasoned that it is to save laundry, in which he found it more disgusting - before crawling into bed and settled against Hanzo’s back.

  
When Hanzo’s breathing turned slow and near silent, a sign that he is deeply asleep, Jesse was still wide awake, stealing glances to his pants’ pocket.

  
It’s now visibly heavier with more item hidden inside of it.

 

 

* * *

 

  
The next few days had been tense, and frankly, Jesse hated it.

  
Hanzo had tried his best to act like nothing is wrong, and he loved the man but he is a shit actor. He kept on trying to sneak in questions disguised as innocent inquiries, when Jesse knows he’s trying to fish a reaction out of him, as if he’d hit that one answer and Jesse would pick Peacekeeper up and bolted. The worst thing was that it made him paranoid in return, thinking that maybe Hanzo found the comm in his pocket, that this is why he couldn’t convince him he’s not leaving no matter what.

  
And it wasn’t enough that he was struggling with convincing Hanzo, there is the matter of the comm, supposedly destroyed but is utterly save in his pocket and still vibrates at times. He cursed Winston’s perseverance more than once already, and contemplated actually answering and telling them of his refusal if it’s only for the sake of his mind.

  
He tried to do just that one night, telling Hanzo he is out for a drink when really he made his way to the edge of the town and took the comm in his hand.

  
There were messages, all of them from various teammates who he presumed had answered to the recall: Winston, Lena, Angela, Torbjorn, Reinhardt, hell, even Genji, who wrote a message about how he brought along his master, an omnic monk named Zenyatta and how he’s the best thing since sliced bread, I promise he’ll be a great addition to Overwatch and McCree, where are you? You should really be here, man.

  
He even caught the new roster, sent out by Winston to every member - even him - and look at that, little Fareeha is now one of them, and he knows she’s going to be a tough fighter just like her mom. There’s a stranger who called himself Soldier 76, who based on the chat log - still sent to him as well - apparently showed up out of nowhere and wanted to help. Winston took him in, especially since he proved valuable in both combat and strategy, but Lena seems suspicious of him, saying he seems familiar for some reason.

  
They had candidates as well: a body builder in Russia, a freedom fighter and DJ from Brazil, a video game streamer from South Korea, an ex Vishkar employee, hell, even a newly awakened and docile omnic, who was met by Torbjorn’s disagreement but enthusiasm by everyone else. Their dynamic never change, even after so long, and McCree found himself smiling as he scrolled down the chat logs, on how Lena was throwing a party for a new member, a Chinese scientist who seems to have propensity for being ‘absolutely adorable, luv’ and her little helper, a robot named Snowball.

  
It was during this that his comm lit up, and he was met with a chat, a personalized one addressed to him.

  
It was from Winston.

  
McCree? It simply said on the screen.

  
Jesse hesitated. Answering this felt like a point of no return. It’ll let them know that he’s still alive, and when he started talking to them again…

  
At least, he told himself, when Winston decided he took too long and called him instead, he owed them an explanation as to why he’s not coming back.

  
The screen pops out and he could see Winston’s face, as well as everyone else’s gathering in what he knows was the rec room in Gibraltar. It was an old place, but apparently they still used it, “McCree?” he heard Winston’s voice calling, and soon it was followed by a scream behind him, sounding suspiciously like Lena, “McCree?! Jesse McCree?!”

  
He grimaced, tipping his hat down as not to let them see him, before putting on his best grin, “Hey, y’all,”

  
The explosion of his name followed afterward. Everyone he knows was there, including some new faces, like the white-haired man with the visor, the little asian lady with thick jacket who looked confused behind Angela, and a floating omnic besides Genji, who leaped through a sofa just to reach the camera before everyone else did.

  
“McCree!”

  
The happiness in their voices slowly made him grin wider, and there is that old creeping warmth in him, the nostalgia, and for a second he felt like he was there with them instead of probably halfway across the world.

  
“It is good to see you again, McCree,” Winston said after he managed to get everyone else to settle down, “We have been trying to get ahold of you for a while now! We’re actually worried someone somewhere had gotten the best of our western gunslinger,”

  
“That’ll be a million year before anyone can get a jump on me,” he answered with genuine happiness, “But nah, I'm still alive and kicking,”

  
“Ooh! Oooh! We’ll send you our coordinates now, luv," that was Tracer, jumping out from behind Winston and making the Gorilla squawk indignantly, “Or do you need us to pick you up instead? Where are you right now, somewhere in the USA, right? No worries, we’d get ya in a jiffy!”

  
It was tempting, his mind said, but no, he made up his mind.

  
It was harder than it looks trying to say that to their faces, but he had to. He promised. For the love of god, he promised and he loved the person he made that promise to, “I’m not going anywhere,”

  
The silence that greeted his announcement was deafening and rather eerie. He could’ve sworn the white-haired man in the back was now looking directly at him, frowning, almost judging, “W-what? But why?” this was Angela, in a full gear that makes her look like an angel sent from heavens. She’s grown too, he decided, “Jesse, are you in danger? Look, Pharah— Fareeha that is, is nearby. She’s supposed to be scouting for out next mission, but we can get her to help you—“

  
“I’m not in any danger, Ange,” he answered truthfully, and saw just how grim his face is on the comm’s reflection, “I.. I changed. It’s been 20 years, and,” he sighed, nothing like the pain of telling the truth, “And it’s been a long one. I’ve retired and— and i met someone,”

  
He could see all of their faces from the screen, but he was mostly fixated on how Lena’s jaw dropped and Genji’s staring, which is a lot more unnerving considering one could not see his face, “I’m sorry. But I made a promise, and I intended to keep it. I’m not coming back,” the cowboy considered them all, and decided to add, “I need him, and he needs me. It’s not ideal, and I wish you guys the best of luck,”

  
“Met some—“ that was Genji, who pushed in against the crowd directly in front of the screen, “McCree, we need you! Our current number is nothing compared to what it was and we need all the help we can get! Look, you don’t have to stay in the watchpoints if that’s what you’re worried about, we’d compromise, right?” He looked back to the crowd behind him, as if urging them to support him.

  
And they did, “That’s right luv! If, if you’re worried about your family, new family, we could always drop you off back home. Or, or, you don’t have to be a fully active member, but you can still help!”

  
“Or you can bring him here, to Overwatch!” this was Angela, who for all of her grace, reminded him again to that bright eye and bright young lady back in the old Overwatch, “It’s save enough for civilians, remember? He doesn’t have to worry, and neither do you,”

  
God, why do they have to be like this? It’s not that simple. But instead of saying those, Jesse gave them a wistful smile and shook his head, “I’m afraid it’s beyond that. I promised,” it seems too personal, for him to divulge his promise to Hanzo, nevermind that these guys had been his best comrades. No, he had to separate that life and this now, it’s the only way, “I promised. And I love him too much to risk loosing him,”

  
The look of disappointment around the screen tugged on his chest, and he had to tip his hat down to shadow the rest of his face.

  
“McCree—“

  
“Let him,”

  
A new voice startled him, and for a moment, Jesse thought he saw an old figure from his life, blonde hair, ever-present smile, and yet commanding aura. But the person who spoke was not a dead man who come to life; it was the white-haired man in the back, who crossed his arms, his muscles bulging from under the blue-white jacket he wore, “If McCree said no, then we are not forcing him,”

  
“But Soldier!” it was Genji, who flailed his hand in an animated gesture of indignance. He caught him looking at the omnic, who shook his head, and Jesse realized that that is Zenyatta, Genji’s master, “McCree was a valuable ally in the past. He—“

  
“He was in the past,” the man, Soldier 76 cuts, and stared right back to the screen, staring at Jesse, “But now he is a changed man. You can’t blame him for that. Be grateful he is still alive, that at least one of your ally is saved, and leave it at that,” Genji looked like he was about to protest, but Soldier 76 left the room, his gait stiff and legs almost marching. McCree wondered if he had been an actual soldier when he was younger.

  
In the silence, it was Winston who broke it, sighing, “He’s right,” he said, side-eyeing Lena when she looked like she is a bout to protest, “You know he is right, Lena. As do all of you. McCree,” he stared right back to the screen, a small, almost sad smile on his face, “I’m glad you are alright, above all,”

  
“Thank ya kindly, Winston,”

  
“If you ever change your mind,” the gorilla said again, this time with a much sincere smile. The rest of the member had left, Genji stomping after Soldier 76 and Angela following behind him. There’s only Lena and the Chinese girl - Mei-Ling Zhou, he remembered from the chat log - the former who looked absolutely dejected and the latter who tries to comfort her in her own confusion, “You know where to find us,”

  
He said his goodbyes one more time, and Jesse turned it off, thinking that he felt much better.

  
(He doesn’t. He drinks himself to stupor that night and woke up at home without any recollection)

 

* * *

 

  
A week passed, and much to his glee, everything seems to have returned back to normal. Hanzo no longer avoids him - if anything, he is a lot more affectionate, not that Jesse’s complaining - and while the weight of the comm and the ring was still burning his pants pocket and bedside drawer, Jesse found it all easier to deal with.

  
When he returned from harvest that night - with a basket full of tomatoes and corns, he is so proud of himself he’s preening all the way through - he was met with a delicious scent and a mouthwatering sight of Hanzo placing two pieces of large steak to two plates, decorating them so prettily he thought he’s in a high-class restaurant. For a person who claimed to have never lift a finger for chores before, Hanzo proves a magnificent cook, and seems to find thrill in doing it as well, much to his delight.

  
“What’s the occasion?” he asked, rounding his arms around Hanzo’s waist, and pressing a kiss to the side of the older man’s temple. The grayish hair there seems to have increased in number recently, and Jesse wondered if it is merely a poor genetic or if Hanzo hadn’t been taking good care of himself. He should check sooner or later.

  
Hanzo shook his head, “I wish to treat you well tonight,” the shorter of the two replied, turning to peck Jesse’s lips - he tasted like tea - and pushing him away to carry the plates to the dining table, “You have worked hard, i think you deserved to be pampered every now and then,”

  
“Ooh, baby, you’re the best,” Jesse laughed, plopping down on his side of the table and openly sniffing the steam from the steak. It was his favorite too; T-bone with gravy sauce and mustard, with a side helping of mash potato and grilled tomato. He almost squealed happily once he saw the content, “Have I told you i love you today, Han? Because I love you,”

  
Hanzo sets his own plate - it was scarcer and of smaller portion than Jesse’s - and laughed heartily. The cowboy didn’t think he’d ever get enough of that, “Plenty of times, Jesse,” he hummed, eyes turning lidded and his smile serene, “And I have not said it enough,”

  
A piece of meat already dangling between his teeth, Jesse stopped and looked up to the person across the table, “Huh?”

  
“I simply felt like I have never expressed myself well enough, and you have picked up my lackings, so to speak,” Hanzo told him, elegantly cutting a small portion of his own steak, “I will try to rectify that to the best of my ability,”

  
“Aw, shucks, darlin’,” the brunet laughed again, rubbing the back of his neck. He loved it when Hanzo is affectionate and at the same time, it sent him to no ending flush of embarrassment and happiness. Hopefully, this is what Hanzo felt every time he did the same thing, because he loved this feeling more than anything else, “Ya don’t hafta. I love telling ya I love ya and that’s that,”

  
Dinner had been incredible (“Compliments to the chef!”, “But I am the chef,”, “Han, we gotta work on your English slangs,”) and the atmosphere was lulling him pleasantly that McCree found his hand wandering to his pocket. This should be it. This sort of normalcy, this mundane routine and banter, this is why he had settled, why he had rejected Overwatch’s offer, why he stayed here despite hearing their exploits for the last few days and feel his blood pumping.

  
He could try and learn to live without the fights. He couldn’t live without Hanzo.

  
“Hanzo, listen,” Jesse made up his mind. He decided then and there. He placed a hand into his pocket, grabbing the box of ring, ready to pull it out once Hanzo looked away from the dishes and to him, “I got something to tell you,”

  
The other man hadn’t turned around from his meticulous dish scrubbing, but it’s okay. Jesse had his entire lifetime to try and get his attention, “What is it, Jesse?”

  
The cowboy smiled even wider, “I gotta little— Ugh!”

  
Everything was fine, it should be fine, but all of the sudden his world started spinning. Everything was blurred, almost white, foggy and all of the description he could think of, and his head felt so, so heavy. Jesse could feel himself falling down to the floor, and panicked. What is this? What is happening? Hanzo! Where is Han—

  
As if summoned by his thoughts, Hanzo appeared in his peripheral vision, looking unperturbed by the situation. Jesse’s mind was too muddled to think of this as odd, “Han— Darlin’ what the hell is—“ It was like his tongue and muscles lost all of its ability to move, because he didn’t fight it when Hanzo picks one of his arm and half dragged him to a direction he could only tell from sheer habit was their bedroom.

  
He was thrown to the bed, his legs positioned and entire body propped as if he was going to go to sleep. In the depth of his mind, Jesse knew something was terribly wrong, Hanzo’s behavior is very wrong, and when a hand wandered into his pocket, the other pocket that does not consist of the ring he was about to propose with, he panicked.

  
But his head was heavy, and his eyes started to hurt from his resistance to close them, “H..an..?”

  
“I know,” he heard the voice from above him, so sweet and gentle, but at the moment, it brought nothing but dread. A cold item was pressed into his hand. Something familiar. His Overwatch comm, “I know you better than you know yourself, Jesse McCree,”

  
No.

  
Oh, fuck no.

  
He tried to fight it, tried to open his eyes, but he couldn’t, “W-what have… y’ done….?”

  
“I never wanted to resort to these underhanded trick,” he heard the light of his life spoke, and never, not even after he learned of Blackwatch’s fall did he felt this much betrayal, “But once a yakuza, always a yakuza. Even if it was for someone else’s own good,”

  
He didn’t understand, or maybe he did and whatever it is Hanzo had given him was clouding his brain. Either way, he felt the hand gently caressing his hair, “Jesse, I never— Not once since I have met you have I regretted anything. I do not regret staying with you, I never regret falling in love you,” the hand was soft, as it trails down to the side of his face, “And this time, for your happiness, I will not regret doing this, even if you may hate me,”

  
Jesse wanted to scream, to be angry, hell he wanted to cry. But all he managed was a weak groan, not even to move and fight his closing eyelid.

  
The last thing he heard was a genuine sob that did not come from him and a gentle, and an almost broken, “Goodbye, Jesse McCree. Thank you for the happiest years of my life,”

  
He closed his eyes with a silent scream in his mind.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.. uh, what do you think? I hope it wasn't too one-sided because i want both party to have their own reason to do what they do. 
> 
> Oh, and i'm so sorry i haven't reply to any comment. I swear i read them, but i'm just.. it sounds silly but i'm way too awkward and i seriously don't know what to answer your comments with. I do appreciate every single one of them, as well as your kudos, and i'm really glad a lot of people liked my fic.
> 
> So, thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree gained a lot of things; he got his lover back, a brother-in-law's approval, and he's got a future to think if, for both him and Hanzo.
> 
> And then, Death comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the nice comments, kudos, and follows! I'm really glad that you enjoyed that last chapter.
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy this new one as well!

  
**PRESENT - GIBRALTAR WATCHPOINT - MEDBAY INTENSIVE CARE UNIT**

  
“You’ve been here for 4 days,”

  
McCree didn’t look up once, knowing without even having to turn as to who it is, “I know, Ange. I can tell time since I was 3,”

  
Angela sighed behind him, and McCree knows her well enough to know she is placing her hands on her hips, a grim look on her face. She wore that when she had to tell him he needs to start lowering his intake of Cigarillo if he wanted to survive past 50, “He’s not going to be awake anytime soon, Jesse,” she gently reminded him, “What Talon did to him— He needed a lot of rest to recuperate,”

  
“I know, Ange,”

  
“At least eat. Or shower and sleep,”

  
“Did it, done that,” He didn’t specify as to which one he had done, mostly because he wasn’t paying attention whether he had or hadn’t anyway.

  
He could hear Angela sighing again, sounding much older than her age. In all honesty, McCree felt a tug of guilt, but he stayed put, leaning even closer to the caged medical bed. His arm probably had a dent on them now the shape of the cylindrical metal from how long he kept the position, but he could care less. In his other hand, the cowboy held a yellow scarf, the texture hard and rough, unlike the first time he had brought it with him here.

  
Angela and Zenyatta had cleaned Hanzo well, trimming down his hair and beard, washing away all of the blood and bandaging the bruises and injuries well. Right now, instead of the mess he was when they first found him, Hanzo looked like he was sleeping, instead of being in a coma, not even Angela can wake him up from. The bruises had mostly disappeared now, thanks to the doctor’s tireless effort, but that wasn’t enough to fix the biggest injury he sustained.

  
McCree grimaced, eyeing the lack of anything at all beyond the unconscious man’s knee.

  
According to Angela, Talon had sawed the leg clean off in a surgical manner, leaving the nerves and joints functional. As far as he knew, she and Torbjorn are working on a prosthetics, not unlike the one McCree supported on his arm. It’s still under testing, and while McCree trusted Torbjorn completely, he couldn’t shake up the never ending guilt and turmoil in his mind.

  
If only I found him sooner.

  
If only I at the very least made an effort to bring him to Overwatch.

  
If only I know what he was planning that night.

  
If only.

  
If only.

  
The scarf under his hand is rough to the touch, recently cleaned the best he could, but there is a reason why Hanzo had been the one who was responsible for laundry. The first 6 hours Hanzo was brought in and had been locked down by Angela for a surgery he had tried his best cleaning it, thinking, in that small childish part of his mind he never grew out of, that if he gives it back, his love will also come back.

  
It’s been 4 days. Hanzo has yet to wake up.

  
People had come and gone, most of them coming in to check on him. Reinhardt had constantly asked how he was doing, Lena, Hana, and Lucio had come together but leaves once the silence becomes too much, Zenyatta checks in and does one of his healing technique, other members have come, share a little before leaving, and even Morrison came down once or twice.

  
Genji was the most constant visitor, understandable considering that— Well, apparently, the guy he has been in love with for the last 7 years turns out to be his best buddy’s estranged older brother.

  
Small world.

  
McCree could use some expansion.

  
With every visit, the japanese man would stay quiet, refusing any offer for a chair, and he would stare. Most of the time at his brother, muttering and whispering in his native language as he does, and when he turned to McCree he was just staring. The mask helps to make it less unnerving, because at least there is no telling in what Genji is thinking, but the silence is palpable.

  
He knows the younger man had questions; probably a lot of it. It’s no secret now that the man McCree had initially refused Overwatch’s invitation for was Hanzo (apparently) Shimada. Thankfully nobody had been so tactless as to mention that or ask him about it, but he could tell that Genji was on the cusp of bursting.

  
To be honest, McCree wasn’t ready for questions. Hell, he didn’t know what to answer half of them if Genji started becoming adamant.

  
Sighing to himself, McCree returned to what he had been doing for the past 4 days; keeping constant vigilant on his (ex-beloved? Ex-soon-to-be-fiance?) ex-partner’s bed.

 

* * *

 

  
The harsh slam on the table next to him didn’t startle McCree, but the hand being slapped on the back of his head did.

  
“Eat,”

  
The 37 years old man winced and looked up, to see the muscular form of Fareeha Amari towering over him. Even in the whole year, he was here, McCree couldn’t believe that the little girl who used to be Ana’s shadow, following her every footstep and giggled at his every bad joke would grow up to be this elegant yet deadly young woman.

  
“Fareeha,” he greeted weakly, before taking in whatever it is that she had brought with her. It was a bowl of soup, easy for the digestion, and some flat bread, and a bowl of what he would guess would contain the rest of the nutrients they believe he had loss simply by sitting at a hospital bedside, “Your mom’s cooking?”

  
“Yes. She wouldn’t say it directly, but she’s beside herself with worry,” the Egyptian woman shrugged, pulling another seat and sitting right next to the older man, “so you better lick it clean. You know how upset she’ll get if there're leftovers,”

  
“Yes, ma’am,” he laughed, but it lacked the enthusiasm, and it just made him sound depressed more than anything. The smell was damn inviting, and he’d guess from the misshapen sizes the bread took Ana probably made them herself. It made him smile, if a little embarrassed to see that she’s still treating him like her own son.

  
McCree ate slowly, not really having the appetite - he didn’t have much appetite for anything these days. It was good soup, good bread, and whatever that thing on the bowl is probably just as good, but it just doesn’t seem right.

  
Not with Hanzo still tethering on the line between death and life.

  
“He’s a good-looking guy,” he heard from his side, and saw Fareeha staring down at Hanzo’s unconscious form critically, “I can see why you’re so into him you refused to come back,”

  
Is that what people thought was his reason for not coming back? McCree snorts, “’s what made him different for me, at least at first it was,” he didn’t really want to tell her what he thought of Hanzo the first time they met, because that sort of lewd talk is not something he’d share to a woman he still saw as a shy little girl following her mother’s every step, “Then time goes by and— and i wouldn’t even care if he’s old like Morrison, or i don’t know deformed, or anything. I just, it didn’t matter anymore,”

  
“Because you love him?”

  
Oh god. Oh lord he talked. Whether or not Fareeha meant it, he talked, “Yeah. More than anything. I didn’t expect him to mean so much to me, but hell, he pulled me into retirement all because he told me he was scared of seeing me dying. I couldn’t say no to those pretty eyes, couldn’t deny him nothin’,”

  
He had given Hanzo everything. He gave up his profession, gave up his livelihood, gave up his insecurities, tore it all down because he loved this man so much, his last act of devotion had been giving up the last thread he had left of his past.

  
And then he left. Left, and leaving nothing but a letter, a yellow scarf, a burned down ranch in an out of town area somewhere in Midwest and sweet memories to help him get by.

  
Fareeha sighed, sounding forlorn and amused at the same time. McCree raised an eyebrow when she laughed, “You know, if it was a 12 years old me here instead of, well, me, I would’ve cried to my pillow like it’s the end of the world,” when the cowboy frowned harder, she turned, a small smile on her lips, “What? You don’t remember? That I used to have a crush on ‘that handsome boy Mr. Reyes brought back who talked funny’? And then everyone in the base found out because I made a mistake telling Liao and everyone knew the next day?”

  
Despite himself, McCree smiled and laughed, “Oh yeah. Yeah, and the rest of the Blackwatch including Ana teased me, calling me like ‘Chick magnet’ and all that stuff,”

  
The two laughed like old friends, Fareeha pushing McCree by his forearms and McCree trying to rustle her head only to be blocked by her arm. When the laughter died down, the Egyptian woman chuckled and looked at Hanzo once more, “That little girl would be burning in jealousy,” she mused, “Especially when she caught the way you look at him,”

  
McCree’s smile dimmed, before it returned slightly as he scoffed, “I wish you can all met him in a better circumstances. Wish I thought of bringing him here, show him all of the things from the stories i told him about,”

  
“Wish this, wish that, what if and if only. All of them are just words,” Fareeha stood, pushing the chair back to where it was before. Her long dark hair sways along with her movement, “ I couldn’t talk for everyone, and I certainly couldn’t talk for Genji,” she crossed her arms, the tattoo underneath her eyes creased along when she frowned, “But despite who Hanzo may be in the past, both you and Genji vouched for him. Now he’s here, and he’s under our protection. And Overwatch took care of our own,”

  
She obviously meant it to be comforting words, a way to cheer him up the way she brought something up from her naive childhood to make him laugh. At that moment, McCree could only smile as he took one of her hand and kissed the back of it. He smiled at the slight blush that appears on her face. Looks like someone hadn’t exactly let go of that crush, huh? “You’re an amazing woman, you know that, right?”

  
The smile on Fareeha’s face was boyish and wide, a refreshing change from her usually serious demeanor, “And you’ll never stop being a flirt, wouldn’t you Jesse McCree?”

 

* * *

 

  
The next time someone came in, McCree had been in the middle of tracing the tattoo outline on Hanzo’s wrist. If Hanzo were awake, he would immediately pull away, he thought, always so shy in the face of public display of affection. To respect an unconscious man’s wishes, even if he’s not exactly awake to appreciate it, the cowboy lets go, and faced the newcomer.

  
And soon find out that there is no need because Genji is already next to him, foot falls as silent as ever.

  
He didn’t seem to acknowledge McCree, but only a fool would think that Genji Shimada’s attention could only be in one place. McCree left him to his own devices, as he started saying words in japanese, none which the older of the two could understand, but he’d leave them to it. Maybe Genji is trying to reach Hanzo in his own way.

  
For his part, McCree fiddled with the yellow scarf, one that he had tied on his wrist to prevent it from dropping to the floor should he unexpectedly fall asleep again.

  
The silence was long, not necessarily uncomfortable. They weren’t here to hold a conversation, they’re both here because someone important to them is now laying comatose after unspeakable amount of torture who knows how long he had endured.

  
But of course, today has to be different, “What was he like?”

  
McCree felt like he arrived in the middle of the conversation, “What do you mean?”

  
“During your time together,” Genji repeated patiently, his eyes never looking away from Hanzo’s prone form, “What was Hanzo like?”

  
It seems like such a simple question, yet at the same time, McCree was at lost for answers. Where do he begin, for one, and what can he or can’t he tell. Will Genji resent him if he says something wrong? Will Hanzo? He wasn’t exactly ready to know that his best friend and comrade is, in fact, his ex-soon-to-be-brother-in-law, but there’s the truth.

  
He tried to imagine the first memory that always pops into his mind whenever his determination to find Hanzo wanes and he began to doubt himself; It was early to their partnership, when McCree was still working on to becoming something more to Hanzo than a flirty partner. They found themselves in a casino, where the target was said to frequent, and they missed their mark that day because, despite Hanzo’s urging, he had been addicted to winning at the roulette table.

  
McCree had won a lot, but due to continuous goading by the dealer and the spectators, he had gotten cocky and betted all into a bad choice. He lost grand worth of money, and the disappointment apparently made him look like he was about to cry. Hanzo took one look at his pout and laugh himself to tears, the first time he ever did in their first few months of traveling together. Suddenly, loosing so much money doesn’t seem to bad.

  
At present, McCree laughed warmly, his thumb finding its way back to Hanzo’s wrist, “He had a nice laugh. Every day, i tried my best trying to get that out of him, and sometimes, I could see when I started irritating him, but he never asked me to stop. I didn’t succeed as much as I want to, but whenever I did, he made me feel like I'm the luckiest man in the whole wide world,”

  
Genji was silent. He supposed that was an order to continue, but even if he hadn’t ask, McCree would not and could not stop. He missed Hanzo too much, “He and I are both the same, we’ve seen and done shit we aren’t proud of. Your brother held his thoughts close to himself whereas I spilled all of them to him because I trust him. He didn’t try to make things better, he didn’t tell me that things are going to be okay and I love him for it. He didn’t sugarcoat it, he knows as well as I do that nothing we did was ‘not that bad’, no,” he shook his head, matted brown hair flailing limply as he did.

  
“Likewise, I didn’t push him. People deal with fucked up shit differently, and Hanzo deal with him on his own term. I don’t mind, because I know if he’s good and ready he will. And he did,” Rainy night in Midwest, USA, how could he every forget, “So when he asked me later on to do something big and life changing, I immediately say yes, because I realize that I wanted beyond everything else to make him happy and stay by his side forever,”

  
The end of that decision went down to flame, quite literally, he thought bitterly. It still didn’t mean he regretted it, not when his agreement had turned into the happiest 3-4 years of his life.

  
“Why did you leave then?”

  
McCree gritted his teeth, “I never left,” he gripped Hanzo’s limp hands tight, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath. With his other hand, he reached into his pocket and took out a piece of paper. It was beyond creased from repeated folding and unfolding, and McCree could recite the content by heart. He had put this paper right next to the ring, which is still inside its box and he hadn’t even touched, “He was the one who did,”

  
Genji took the paper gingerly, and there is a quiet hiss as he took off his mask. McCree knows he could read with the mask on better, considering his eyesight weren’t what it used to be, but he didn’t question this decision.

  
He left Genji to his own devices, and gripped Hanzo’s hand tight as he recounts the content of the letter.

 

 

* * *

 

  
**1 YEAR AGO - MIDWEST, USA**

  
When McCree woke up that morning, his forehead was hurting terribly, and his mouth felt like a roadkill had been stuffed into it and left overnight. He didn’t remember what had caused this, though he would guess drinking might be involved when the memory from the night before started flooding in and the man sat up, ignoring the pain.

  
“Hanzo!”

  
No answer. McCree scrambled up, and would’ve bolted out if he didn’t spy a flash of yellow from his bedside table and promptly turned despite the dread in the pit of his stomach.

  
On his bedside table was his old uniform; red serape, armor, his hat, newly cleaned and washed and Peacekeeper placed on the brim. On the top of his hat was his Overwatch comm, and next to it, a rolled up paper, held together with a yellow scarf.

  
Hanzo’s.

  
“No,” he whispered, knowing and wilting at the thought that nobody could hear him, as he grabbed the letter harshly and untied the scarf, “No, Darlin’, don’t you dare to do what I think you did—,”

  
It was a letter, written in the cursive way Hanzo wrote his alphabets, crisp and elegant, but this is not the time to admire the penmanship. Please, the cowboy thought, please let this all be a nightmare.

 

_Jesse,_

_By the time you read this, I'll be far, far away._

_I meant what I said. I know you better than you know yourself. When you came back that night lying about destroying your communicator, I know that your heart does not belong here anymore, not completely. No, even before that, I know you longed to go back, no matter how many times you try to deny yourself._

_You have been nothing but good to me. You taught me how to feel again, in the midst of my suffering, and you showed me that perhaps_ i _am better than the man who hunts down his brother and almost killed him. If you can love someone like that, then perhaps there is something to love and there is something to salvage after all._

_So that is why I'm doing this. I will repay you._

_Go back to Overwatch, Jesse. They are friends who need you, and I know you need them. I always loved how your eyes sparkle as you spoke so fondly of them, and I wish to return that spark into you, instead of keeping you miserable in this peaceful life that I have forced you into. It does not suit you, and I think deep down, you know this as well as I do._

_I will not make you choose between myself and Overwatch._

_Thank you, for everything._

_あなたのことが好きで好きでたまらない。_  
_さようなら。_

McCree ran. He ran like never before, with a speed he didn’t know he was capable of. He first reached the closet, and slammed them open only to see that everything was gone; Hanzo’s bow, his quiver, and arrows, even the small knife he always hid on his person. The entire house and the fields outside were empty, no matter how much he shouts and pushed his vocal chords to the brink of hoarseness. Even the closet only contain his clothes, and the only article left he had of Hanzo was the yellow scarf he had tied the letter with.

  
He didn’t know how long he stayed in what used to be their bedroom. Didn’t know when he returned to his side of his bed, kneeled in front of everything he swore to never touch again, laid down in front of him, and he didn’t know how long he cried, screaming, anger and pain mixing into one.

  
McCree just didn’t know anything anymore.

 

* * *

 

When the Overwatch’s carrier landed, McCree could see Lena, Fareeha, Genji and Angela exiting the vehicle, large smiles on their faces, until they caught the sight of the rubble behind him.

  
There were still some sparks of fire here and there, even though the actual fire itself had been gone long before they got here, but it was clear that the burnt structure behind McCree used to be a house. And the lighter and cans of oil next to his feet made it clear who the culprit was.

  
They all looked concerned, and while McCree knows he shouldn’t being making them worried, he didn’t have much energy to even care.

  
He kicked one of the oil can, his spurs spinning from the motion, “Well, we best get going,” he told them, his voice carried by the wind as he tipped his head to the house, giving a silent farewell to both his abode and the sweet memory he had burnt into nothing, “Nothing’s keeping me here, anyway,”

  
Underneath his serape was a yellow scarf tied around his neck, its tail dangling and dancing with the wind.

 

* * *

 

  
He was given his own quarter, and the layout of the base didn’t change much from the last time he was here, so he declined Lena’s offer for a tour and made his way to the base’s mainframe room, where he knew the computer AI, Athena would be.

  
She greeted him with the warmth of an old friend, despite being a cluster of programming, and for a while, McCree felt like he was home.

  
“How can I help you?”

  
“Can you find someone for me?” he asked, staring up at the display of world’s map Athena placed as he raised his questions.

  
“I can. Who are you looking for, McCree?”

  
He looked down to the scarf in his hand, clutched tightly in his prosthetics, “I just have a name for you to go on,”

  
Athena was silent. If she was a living, organic being, McCree would’ve said she was thinking, “That might not be much to go on, but I can try,” she stopped, before adding, her voice almost sounding gentle, as if to sooth him, “However, it might take a long time,”

  
From the corner of his eyes, McCree could see Winston ambling down from the hall, and stopped when he saw him. The gorilla looked speculative, almost contemplating, and while he knows asking him would probably help fasten the process, McCree just couldn’t bring himself to.

  
It was all his fault. This is something he had to do alone.

  
“I waited for him for 2 years, and then some more,” he told her, and he knows from Winston’s raised brows that he was heard. He’ll probably share this with Lena later, who will let the entire base know. He doesn’t care, clutching the scarf in his hand even tighter, “I will find him again, no matter how long it takes,”

 

* * *

 

  
**PRESENT - GIBRALTAR WATCHPOINT - MEDBAY INTENSIVE CARE UNIT**

  
When the silence had stretched too long, the cowboy chanced a peek and saw Genji placing a finger on the letter, tracing something in the bottom of it. It occurred to him then that Genji, a japanese man, could probably read them, and is probably doing so right now.

  
(A long time ago, he had considered asking Genji what it meant. He held back because not only was it something intimate for him, he wished to hold on to this curiosity to ask Hanzo when he find him, because he will find him, he has to)

  
Now, with all of these new circumstances, McCree found himself asking, “What does that say?”

  
Genji tilted his head slightly, acknowledging him, before turning back to the letter, “It says _Anata no koto_ _ga suki de suki detamaranai,_ ” he spoke, his words a smooth flow compared to his often accented English, “ _Sayonara_ ,”

  
“What does it mean?”

  
Instead of answering him, Genji folded the letter but he didn’t give it back. McCree wondered if he wanted to keep it, and wondered if he himself will let that important piece get away, “It means that I must thank you, McCree. I must admit all of this baffles me. Everything happened so fast; finding my brother after all these years, learning he is in the hand of Talon, knowing that you and he had a connection. I was angry, scared, elated all at the same time, but you two, I could not understand,” he shook his head, clutching it gently as if it was brittle under his hands, “But it seems like it was easier than I thought,”

  
The cyborg rounded him, standing right next to where Hanzo’s head is, laying propped on a fluffed pillow. He brought down a hand to his brother’s forehead, running his hand through Hanzo’s raven - gray locks. McCree distinctly remembered Hanzo himself having a habit of doing the same gesture to him, and wondered if that is a Shimada family thing. Genji closed his eyes and began to spoke in Japanese, gentle, in a whisper, as if McCree, though right next to them and could not speak even a word, weren’t supposed to hear it at all.

  
Then he raised his hand to grip McCree’s shoulder instead, gripping it with such force it almost hurts, “I will entrust him to you,” he said, voice clear and full of command, leaving no room for argument. His eyes burned with determination, and it cooled down when he smiled visibly, the scars over his lips moving along with the gesture, “I know you are trustworthy, brother-in-law,”

  
Despite the seriousness behind that request and term, McCree found himself smiling. The ring in his bedroom comes to mind and now that he had Hanzo here again, perhaps he’s finally ready. No, he knows he is ready, “Not yet,” he told Genji, whose eyes sparkled, seemingly understanding, “But soon. Now that I got him back here with me,” the cowboy held Hanzo’s hand tighter, “I will soon. I have the ring with me for almost 4 years now,”

  
Genji’s smile was so wide, it hurts just seeing the hope and joy in it, “I’ll look forward to the day then, brother-in-law,”

 

* * *

 

  
A week has passed, and McCree woke up to Angela hovering next to him, a stethoscope around her neck and a clipboard in her hands. She seems mighty pleased with herself, and smiled even wider when she saw him, “Good morning, Jesse,”

  
“Mornin’,” he said through a yawn and promptly turned to the bed, where Hanzo lays. He was still as unmoving as ever, but his colors have begun to return, and he looked more like a sleeping person than someone newly dug from a grave. Even the bandages were off, leaving him in a hospital issued gown that McCree had put on himself, “Tell me you have a good news,”

  
“Several, in fact,” the german woman told him, tapping her pen to the clipboard. All traces of sleepiness disappears from McCree’s face in an instant, “His vitals are mostly stable, and his injuries, even the internal ones were almost completely healed. He will still need a lot of rest, even after he woke up, but he’ll be just fine,” she smiled at him, “If this keeps up, Hanzo will be up in no time,”

  
“Ange, that’s great!” McCree cheered, and stood up quickly to engulf her in an embrace. Angela giggled, patting his back, “Oh my god, you’re serious? He’s really going to be fine? He’ll wake up soon?”

  
She nodded, smoothing out her coat, “Give him 2-3 days. After that I want him to stay for routine check-up, but Hanzo seems to be in a good shape,” the blonde looked back down to her clipboard, her tongue jutting out a little, “Oh, and Torbjorn wants me to tell you too; The prosthetic legs for Hanzo are almost ready,”

  
‘Really?”

  
“He may need some more adjustments, which he could only do once Hanzo himself tries them on, but he made it according to Genji’s recollection of Hanzo’s prowess and capabilities. Should he ever decided to join us, he’d have no problem fighting the way he used to,”

  
McCree’s smile slowly fade away when Angela’s words finally registered, “What?”

  
“It’s something Jack and I have been talking about,” she admitted, turning her gaze to Hanzo, “We— we don’t know exactly the story between the two of you, we don’t even know anything about him except for what you and Genji had told us. And we do remember why you refused to come back to Overwatch the first time a year ago,”

  
His promise to Hanzo. Had that only been a year ago? It seems much, much longer than that.

  
Angela’s gaze then flitted back to him, and she hugged her clipboard with a sigh, “The final decision is, of course, Hanzo’s, but we would be more than glad to offer him a place in Overwatch. Even if he refuse, he’ll always have a place here,” she bit her lower lip, her expression suddenly looking apprehensive, “As do you,”

  
At first, it didn’t register to McCree just what is it that Angela was talking about. Are they offering Hanzo a position as an agent in Overwatch? He knew it would come sooner or later, and even if they hadn’t, McCree have half a mind of trying to appeal to Morrison into recruiting Hanzo, if only because he wanted to keep the man here.

  
Then it dawned on him just what Angela meant. They thought that now that he found Hanzo, he’s going to leave again.

  
McCree remembered the now burned down house in Midwest, reduced to nothing but a pile of ashes in an hour or two by his own hand. He knew he did it because he had been full of sorrow, unable to even look at that house without thinking of what he lost overnight, but now, McCree couldn’t look at it that way.

  
He burned that house because he knows Hanzo was right; that peaceful life was nice, but retirement was not for them. Not just yet.

  
Hanzo and McCree could start their life together here, in Overwatch, surrounded by people they know, people to depend on, and no longer would they be just two people against the whole wide world. They’ll be save here. He would no longer be split between Hanzo and Overwatch, and Hanzo will never have to worry again. Not if they are on the same side.

 

He'll just have to get Hanzo to agree with this. 

 

McCree will do anything, anything at all to never loose Hanzo again. 

 

  
He smiled at Angela, who turned bright once more, knowing a positive answer once she sees one. This could be the life together they wanted after all.

 

* * *

 

  
It was in the middle of a friendly, almost nostalgic banter with Genji (“Hanzo cooks? And do laundry?”, “He wasn’t used to it at first. Guess him being the heir of a yakuza clan kinda explains a lot,”, “I’m more amazed you managed to make him do something so— domestic,”) when the emergency alarm suddenly blared with ear-splitting volume.

  
“What the hell is going on?!”

  
There’s shouting somewhere outside, near the Medical bay where the two of them were holed up in, and McCree could make out the gruff voice of Morrison hurrying over. It made him worry, and he pulled Peacekeeper out of it’s holster.

  
A hand on his back made him turn, to see Genji already armed with both his Shurikens and Katana, “Go,” the younger told him, “It must be something dangerous if Athena’s alarm rings. I’d take care of Hanzo,”

  
And if McCree couldn’t trust Hanzo to his own brother, who else could he trust?

  
He nodded, placing his hat back on his head from it’s previous place on Hanzo’s bed, “I’ll leave him to you, partner,” he squeezed his unconscious beloved’s hand once before hurrying out of the Medical bay for the first time in a long time.

  
Winston and Morrison were both in the mainframe room once he arrived, and he almost clashed with Morrison on his way in. The older man didn’t seems to acknowledge him, only cocking his Pulse Gun and rushing out, “What the hell is going on, Winston?” he asked, frowning at the ex-commander’s hurry and strode over to where their resident Gorilla genius stood.

  
“Good to see you again, McCree,” Winston called as a greeting, but McCree could sense the edge in his tone, “We have quite the situation in our hand at the moment,” he pointed to one of the screen Athena displayed, amongst others that he could barely tell apart, which shows the vast grounds outside of the Gibraltar Watchpoint, “It seems that we might have company,”

  
On the screen, almost too fast for the eyes is a culmination a dark clouds, floating almost sentient-like towards the camera. There was a loud bang from the audio feed, and before he knew it, one by one of the footage in the other monitors displayed an error message. The cloud stopped on the camera he and Winston are both watching, and McCree’s blood almost run cold.

  
On the screen, mist turning into a solid object, a person, with an ivory mask looming down to the screen. The man behind the mask chuckles, deep and sinister, “ _Hola_ , Overwatch,” he spoke, a puff of black smoke swirling over the camera. The mask shows no eyes, but McCree knows the red eyes behind it are staring deep to his soul, “I believe you have something of ours,”

 

McCree’s grip on Peacekeeper tightened, and he wanted to both bolt to the entrance to give his own greeting, or run back to the medical bay.

  
“Reyes,”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> あなたのことが好きで好きでたまらない。- I love you so much it hurts  
> さようなら。- Goodbye
> 
> -
> 
> Heartbreaking grandpas coming up next.  
> Does Reyes even age after he 'died'? Does nanomachine allow you to grow old?  
> Hmm.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They found out something.
> 
> It was not a good thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better if i leave the notes on the bottom.
> 
> Hope you'll enjoy this update!

 

**PRESENT - GIBRALTAR WATCHPOINT**

 

 

By the time McCree reached the entrance point into the base, Winston had announced that all of their cameras are dead, and there is no telling just where Reaper could be. When he first heard that, he had half a mind to turn back and return to the medbay, because if that was what Reaper was after, he had another thing coming for him.

 

 

It was a tough decision to make, until it wasn’t.

 

 

The first thing that came in had been Morrison, calm and composed Morrison’s panicked declaration, who practically shouted to the comm, “I lost him! I lost all visual!” and breathed heavily as he announced that he is returning inside because Reaper has gotten in, when did he did that?

 

 

The second that had made his blood run cold and his legs to pump themselves even faster, was when Genji’s voice was heard, but not even a word managed to escape him before there was nothing but a pained shout. 

 

 

Genji. Reaper has reached the infirmary then.

 

 

McCree never ran as fast he did that day in his entire life.

 

 

He remembered the times Hanzo used to remind and scold him about the importance of training even on down times, starting by pointing out that through the years of them being together, his previously peak performance physique has morphed into the type of body only those with minimal exercise would have. McCree would often countered by saying that he didn’t need that much muscle considering his choice of weapon, and he could really pack a punch if he feels like it.

 

 

Now, when his legs began to burn after a few minutes of running, he wished he had listened to Hanzo.

 

 

It took him a while, and he was out of breath to an unbelievable and embarrassing degree (“It’s all of the smoking,”, “Babe, don’t go dissin’ the cigarillo,”, “My _dissing_ will stop once _you_ stop ruining your lungs,”). By the time he reached for the infirmary, however, all of his fatigues were easily forgotten as he took in the sight.

 

 

Genji was laying face down on the floor, his shurikens laying limply from the back of his hand, and the green light of his cyborg body flickered dangerously. His katana was plunged deeply on top of a lower cupboard spilling with bottles of pills, telltale sign of destruction all around it, marks from blades and bullets alike.

 

 

In the middle of the room, tall and imposing surrounded in dark mist was Reyes, his back to the door, facing McCree. As if sensing him, the ex-Blackwatch commander chuckled sinisterly, “Well, well, well,” he purred, the sound sending chill down the cowboy’s spine, “Prince Charming is too late,” he turned with a flair of his robe. McCree’s eyes widened.

 

 

In his arms he held Hanzo, one clawed hands supporting the back of his neck and the other gripping his thigh so tight, McCree could see marks on Hanzo’s skin, “Let him go,” he spun Peacekeeper in his hand, and trained the weapon at his enemy. Reyes, for his part did nothing but tilt his head in what, much to McCree’s anger, seems to be a gesture for amusement, “I’m not going to give you another warning, _cabron_ ,”

 

 

With the way he is holding Hanzo, there’s a chance that Reyes would be unable to use his weapon. Of course, McCree wasn’t that naive, “I’m not saying it again. Let go of him, Reyes,”

 

 

“Or what, you’ll shoot me?” 

 

 

Before he could process it, Reyes suddenly had Hanzo pressed to his front, his limp form covering most of the wraith’s figure as he held him by the neck and waist. McCree bit back a shout, and took a step forward, “You—,” he gritted his teeth, and raised his other hand to join the other holding Peacekeeper. Never before had he ever held his gun that way, but it was better than letting the man before him know that his hand is shaking.

 

 

Whether it was from rage or for fear of Hanzo’s life, however, he wasn’t too sure.

 

 

As if knowing what he was thinking, the fucker laughed, black tendrils started to creep up from his body and slowly enveloping Hanzo’s, “What do you think you’re trying to protect here, _hijo_?” he mocked, “If anything, i’m saving you all the trouble,”

 

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

 

 

“Come on, now, not even you can be that stupid,” one clawed hand that was previously holding on to Hanzo’s neck slowly descended to his collarbone and down to his chest. Said chest was rising and lowering in a speed that’s much too fast for his liking. Is Hanzo aware of what is happening? Is he waking up now, like Angela said he will? Of all the bad timing…, “Don’t you remember Gerard, Jesse? Our poor old friend, Gerard Lacroix?”

 

 

 “Of course i fucking remembered. What the hell does he have to do with anything?”

 

 

That answer seems amusing to Reyes, because he laughed. It was not a pleasant sound, “Oh, well, nobody could say i picked you all those years ago because of your brain,” he mused, and the hand on Hanzo’s chest moved to his forehead, brushing away the fallen raven-grey locks, “But you were such a good subordinate. Very eager to please. So i’ll help you this time around,”

 

 

Whatever it is Reyes had up his sleeve, McCree is not in the mood for it, “Reyes, i swear to god—“

 

 

“Tell me, Jesse,” the wraith cuts him off, “Do you really think that sawing his legs off had been the only thing Talon has done to your precious, precious lover?”

 

 

Even with two arms, Peacekeeper was shaking in his grip. He wanted to reach for his comm, to tell Morrison to hurry the fuck up, to ask where is everybody else. To Genji, to quickly wake up because your brother is in danger, go help your brother, please. But no one came, and Genji was still laying motionless on the floor.

 

 

“Aren’t you wondering just a little bit why he was chained up when you find him? Because i’ve seen why, and it hadn’t been pretty,”

 

 

Torbjorn, where the hell is he, Zenyatta shouldn’t be all too far from the base, and Bastion, Bastion should’ve been able to hear the alarm no matter how far he is. How long does it take for Morrison to walk from the entrance to here. Winston, where is Winston? 

 

 

“What are the chances that the moment he woke up, he’d take one look at you and still recognise you like he used to, Jesse? What would happen if he _doesn’t_?”

 

 

Hanzo, Hanzo open your eyes. Please.

 

 

“Tell me, _hijo_ , what do you think Gerard Lacroix’s last thoughts were, when he saw his beloved Amelie, who was gone for days, standing over him while lying in his own pool of blood, staring down without any remorse?”

 

 

“Shut your fucking trap!” 

 

 

The sound of gunshot still reverberated through the medbay when Peacekeeper’s bullet hits the corner of Reyes’ mask. It fell down without any resistant, and for the first time since the reveal as to why the person behind the cloak was, McCree saw the face underneath, and if he had been a lesser man, he would be sick right there and then.

 

 

Reyes’ face barely maintained his human appearance anymore, and what McCree remembered of him had seemed to be fused with an eldritch abomination. There wasn’t much left of his face, his human part, the pale skin of a dead man, the structure of skull that jutted from underneath, the greying curl that peeked just from underneath the hood. And his eyes, his eyes weren’t just the colour of red, it was the colour of a stained blood, liquid and he almost expected them to melt from his skull and to the cheek that barely has any skin left. It was a horrifying sight.

 

 

When he smirked, the corner of his lips raised to reveal a set of teeth, clearly seen underneath the skin on his cheeks, “Nanomachines, Jesse,” the man— no, he’s not even a man anymore, he’s a reanimated corpse, a walking dead. He’s not the person McCree once looked up to. No matter how closely he looked when he grinned sadistically like that, “Is what they gave me. They gave me a second life with power beyond my imagination, and they turned Amelie into the soldier she is now. And soon,” his clawed hand climbed back to Hanzo’s throat, gripping it so tight, the skin began to turn white, “Soon, you’ll see what they did to him,”

 

 

“You’re lying, Angela said he was fine!”

 

 

“And you’d believe her? Her, who botched me up to the point of _this?”_ he pointed to his own complexion, to himself, any traces of amusement gone in a flash, “They injected him with it since they had him, Jesse. It took Talon only 2 weeks to completely reprogram Amelie for Project:Widowmaker,” he turned his gaze to Hanzo, who upon closer inspecting had a pained frown on his face. As if he could feel the pain in his neck, “What do you think Talon could do to a person in 1 year?”

 

 

1 year.

 

 

Hanzo, his Hanzo had been in Talon’s hand for one year.

 

 

But that means—

 

 

“No,” McCree whimpered, and he was too focused on Hanzo, the pit of despair that started to form in his stomach, to see the look that crossed on Reyes’ face, something like sympathy. It can’t be. There is no way. 

 

 

“My nanomachines helped keep me alive, with the cost of my physical body. The reprogramming they’d done to Amelie altered her abilities and physiology, but at the cost of her emotion and humanity,” McCree hated the tone that Reyes used, hated it because it was familiar, it was the same tone that he would use whenever he was scolding him for not thinking his strategy through. This is not him goading, nor was he mocking, this is him being reasonable, “Do you really want to wait to see what their experiments had done to Hanzo, Jesse?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was the scents that woke him up. Something that smelled of death and decay, the closest thing to his senses, that almost made him recoil. It had awakened his awareness, making his heckles rise, but soon it registered that that the death nearby was not the only scent. 

 

 

There is something else, something close, but far enough it missed him the first time. It was familiarity, it was kin. Injured, his kin is nearby and injured. What injured him? Something inside of him is angry at the thought of his kin being in danger. It seems important to him, family.

 

 

But then something else is also nearby, and it does not speak of injury. It gives of familiarity as well, it gives off scent that he immediately associate with closeness, of safety. He became warmed by this, because if safety is close, then everything would be fine—

 

 

No, something is not right. 

 

 

That safety, that closeness, it emits something, an almost overpowering pheromone that made him want to choke.

 

 

Anger. Fear. Desperation.

 

 

This is not right, something is not right.

 

 

The pain, the pain he felt was not a pheromone.

 

 

Something was actually hurting him, and it hurts even more.

 

 

He snapped his eyes open, and everything came to focus.

 

* * *

 

 

Winston assured him that backup was on its way, but even he can’t guarantee just how fast can they get here.

 

 

He mentally ran through the people who were around, members who did not have a mission; himself, McCree, Winston, who was rarely called into combat to defend their base, Zenyatta, who should be meditating somewhere outside of the base, Torbjorn, who holed himself up in his lab, Genji, who should be in the infirmary with his brother, and Bastion, who had taken to following Zenyatta and should be somewhere close to the fellow omnic.

 

 

Morrison wondered if the attack has to be deliberate; Reyes was probably waiting already, waiting for the most of them to be away before he infiltrated. And the closest person to their base was Satya, Mei and Zarya, who was supposed to be sent after another hidden Talon hideout. If Reaper is already inside however, it might’ve been too late.

 

 

And if the person who screamed on his comm earlier was Genji, he had an idea as to where he is and what he wanted.

 

 

When he arrived, the sound of gunshot was deafening, a seemingly never-ending exchange between McCree’s almost silent bullets and Reyes’ overbearing ones - good, at least someone has gotten here before him - accompanied by something unidentifiable, and he turned his visor on to get a closer look. 

 

 

And it baffled him to the point of actually stopping him on his track.

 

 

Inside of the mostly demolished medbay was two figure that was Reyes’ and McCree’s easily recognisable figures, both of the moving in such fluidity to deliver and avoid injury from one another. Morrison could see McCree fanning the hammer of his gun, aiming at Reyes, who at the last moment disappear in a cloud of smoke untraceable by his visor, but soon appear on another end of the room. 

 

 

No, what was strange from this scene was that Reyes was aiming at two separate figures, and the third figure was moving at an unbelievable speed, leaping and launching themselves at Reyes, in a movement that was all too erratic. That alone eliminated the possibility that it might be Genji, but who then?

 

 

No use dawdling, he told himself, cocking the Pulse gun and hurries towards the infirmary.

 

 

His visor had gotten the basic gist of the scene; most of everything was toppled over, sliced in two of riddled with bullet holes, and he could count small blessings to see that McCree did not use his flashbang in such a small space. Genji was lying on the floor, face down, while McCree and Reyes were battling it over him, but that, nor the two of them, was not what caught his attention.

 

 

No, It was the sight of a person crouched over Genji, with arms trapping the cyborg’s head as a protective gesture and leg stumps straddling his torso. His hair, long and draped over his shoulder and arched back was white as snow, his hands were curled like claws and from underneath the medical scrub he’s wearing, Morrison could see yellow markings, that almost seems to glow.

 

 

The person suddenly turned, revealing his feral sneer and the eyes that even at first glance no longer resemble anything remotely human. In fact, nothing about his animalistic is remotely human, not the low growl, not his elongated fangs, and Morrison was almost certain that no human could move the way he did, not with them missing half of each of their legs. 

 

 

Morrison’s words came in low whispers, both in fascination and horror, “What have they done to you, Hanzo?”

 

 

“Morrison!”

 

 

It was McCree, and his warning did not come too late; his arrival had caught Reyes’ attention, who quickly aimed at him and shoot. The bullet grazed his arm, right before he could duck behind the medbay’s doorframe. It didn’t take long for the spray of bullet to end, and the white-haired man retaliated with his own weapon.

 

 

Evidently, it didn’t hit anything, but quick as the bullets thrown around, Hanzo pounced, landing behind Reyes quick enough to scratch half of his uncovered face. The man screamed in agony, and Morrison could see that it took off some of the skin still remaining on the ex-Blackwatch commander’s face, “Pinche puta!” he roared, and the next thing he knew, the wraith spread both of his arms, shotgun held steadily in both.

 

 

Oh no.

 

 

“McCree! Hanzo!”

 

 

From where he hid, Morrison could not see where the cowboy was, but Hanzo was on eye level to Reyes, perched on top of a low cupboard Angela probably used to store the medicines and supplies. His hand was dripping with blood - darker in colour but still maintain the same coppery smell - his angry hiss shows he probably didn’t know the danger he is in.

 

 

“Die! Die! Die!”

 

 

Smoke gathers around him and he spun like a deranged ballerina, projectiles spewing in rapid speed from both shotgun. And most of it were aimed at Hanzo. Without thinking, the veteran leapt from his hiding place and sprints to the middle of the room, one hand outstretched in a desperate attempt to reach his target and save him from being shot into pieces.

 

 

It never happened, because another body jumps, and Hanzo’s name died in Morrison’s tongue, only to be replaced with another.

 

 

“McCree!”

 

 

McCree’s body slammed to the floor like a ton of brick, blood pooling all around him like a small river. In outrage, Morrison quickly aimed his pulse gun at Reyes, his visor glowing red. His target ducked, but not before he caught the imposing form in his vision, “Tactical Visor activated,”

 

 

The blast was not enough to incapacitate Reyes completely, but he managed to hit him in the middle of his chest and the shock as well as the pain seems to have managed to stop Reyes from trying to dissolve and escape. Using the time it gave him, Morrison quickly sprints towards where McCree has fallen. Hanzo had leapt off from the cupboard and he looked almost panicked, one hand pawing on the cowboy’s chest - like an animal, Morrison noted.

 

 

“Shit,” he hissed, because it doesn’t look good at all. There are two visible gunshot wound on the younger man’s torso, near the centre of his stomach and the other one seemingly grazing his side. There was third one, right in his chest that was too close to where his heart should be. They were all bleeding badly, and he was ready to put pressure to at least stop them before he heard a distressed gasp in front of him and looked up to see Hanzo staring worriedly at something behind him.

 

 

He could probably guess what, so he quickly grabbed his fallen pulse gun and aimed.

 

 

“ _Jack_ ,” Reyes growls, his blood coloured orbs staring at him hatefully and the long drawn out noise of his name that sends chills down Morrison’s spine. The wraith had one hand on his chest, right where Jack had struck him down, where he could see the flesh starting to regenerate itself, “That fucking hurts,”

 

 

“Good,” he retorted, cocking pulse gun into position, “I was hoping it would, _Gabriel_ ,”

 

 

Reyes sneered before dodging his every attack by dissolving himself repeatedly, dodging from one corner of the room to another, but he did not retaliate, nor did he get anywhere close to where the four of them were. Perhaps he had caused more damage than he thought, and while that was a comforting thought, it wasn’t enough.

 

 

When his pulse gun let out a clicking noise instead of another burst of bullet, it registered a little too late for Morrison that in his focus to try and protect McCree and Hanzo, he had yet to reload, and this is exactly the kind of opening Reyes was looking for. And true enough, the decaying face attached to his old comrade showed an ugly smirk when he pulled out his shotguns and aimed it directly towards Morrison.

 

 

There was a terrifying roar from behind him when something whizzed past his head and towards Reyes, a burst of energy so powerful Morrison felt like he was being suffocated and torn from sheer pressure alone. His vision was full of white, sentient pulse and when he heard something akin to a wolf howling, he wondered if the loss of oxygen was getting to his brain and that hallucination had started to take over his brain.

 

 

When the white pulse disappeared, Morrison fell to his knee from the accumulating pain, but not before he saw a long glinting katana embedding itself in the middle of Reyes’ chest.

 

 

The last thing that registered in his mind before he gave into his own fatigue was the Bastion’s loud beeping, Torbjorn’s war cry mingling with his turret’s spewing bullet after bullet, and someone who sounded like Zenyatta approaching closely.

 

 

Cavalry’s here.

 

 

* * *

 

 

When he came to, he was still face down on the floor - good, so he wasn’t out all that long - and there was a mighty big ruckus somewhere in the area. He could hear familiar voices nearby, and through his swimming vision, Morrison caught the sight of Zenyatta floating nearby, his orbs no longer around him but around a struggling figure. He spoke words that Morrison’s muddled mind could not catch, but he did hear the other voice that approached him.

 

 

“—ack? Jack, can you hear me? ‘ey, you alright?”

 

 

He made a reply of sorts, but Morrison suspects it only came out as a garbled mess.

 

 

Large, strong hand turn him over and helped him to get up, the head peeking from the corner of his eyes revealing his helped to be Torbjorn, “Quite a mess we got into, eh? Sorry to say that Reaper got away. Bastion’s after ‘im, but i’m not expecting much from that omnic,” he sighed, patting him on the shoulder, “More importantly, we got a bigger trouble in our hand,”

 

 

Quick inspection shows that the struggling person was actually Hanzo, squirming against the glowing orbs Zenyatta used to restrain him. Behind them was Genji, whose mask was still flickering worryingly, but he himself didn’t seem to care much about it and instead seems to be trying to get his brother’s attention.

 

 

It’s like watching a feral animal being caged, and considering his behaviour so far, that was probably what Hanzo is. His white hair is dancing wildly along with his every erratic movement, and he let out pained howls and whimpers more alike to an animal than a human, “I don’t think he’s always like that,” Torbjorn grimly said next to him, “Think it’s something Talon did to him?”

 

 

“Obviously,” He replied with no hesitation, “But, more importantly, where’s the others? McCree was shot and—“

 

 

“Don’t worry, she arrived not long ago and they took McCree to one of the unused room. Can’t exactly be healing anyone in a place as ruined as this one,” the short bearded man looked around, indicating the damaged surrounding, “Cleaning this place up will be a nightmare,”

 

 

Morrison agrees, but that’s really the least of his worries.

 

 

The yellow glow on Zenyatta’s orbs suddenly turned purple, and Hanzo let out a pained shriek before he suddenly becomes limp and unmoving, “Master!” Genji blurted, genuinely horrified at the deed.

 

 

“Oi! What the hell did you do t’ him, omnic?!” 

 

 

“I have to sedate him,” Zenyatta’s voice was peaceful and calm, even in the face of loud disagreement from both his student and a man who openly hates his kind, “I can sense that something is wrong, and i fear that the more he struggles, the more he might injure himself. I simply tried to protect him from himself,”

 

 

“I can tell you that by just looking at him, but do you have to electrocute him like that?!”

 

 

“Enough, Torbjorn,” ready to take the reigns again, Morrison stood, dusting himself away. Zenyatta had placed Hanzo back to the floor, the safest choice flat surface around in the room at the moment, while Genji was immediately by his brother’s side, “Zenyatta had a point. At this point, we have no idea what happened to Hanzo, and we might unknowingly cause damage if he let him continue. For now, there’s a possibility that Reaper is still around and we’ll just have to bring him somewhere safe while waiting for Angela,”

 

 

The short man grumbled but he did not protest further. On the floor, Genji runs his hand through his brother’s snow white hair, curling it into a fist when he reached the end of the long locks. He mumbled something in japanese, which Morrison’s limited knowledge translated it to something close to ‘what happened to you’.

 

 

Well, won’t all of them liked to know.

 

 

“I don’t like this,” he admitted, gaining all the other three’s attention, “If Talon’s sending Reaper to get him back, there’s no way they’ll quit just like that. Angela hadn’t quite finished going through all of the notes, so finding out what had been done to Hanzo would not be easy, and neither will curing him,”

 

 

Genji hissed, and Morrison thought that the curse word is appropriate with what he himself had in mind.

 

 

The younger of the Shimada sibling continued to run his fingers through white locks, paying no mind to the silence that had descended until he broke it with a gasp of amazement, “How did it—?”

 

 

Behind the visor, Morrison widened his eyes. From the roots of his scalp, the white locks slowly shifted back to black, a gradual process that one could also see along his neatly trimmed beard. Before long, his hair was back to become black as night - all except for a few strands on the side of his temple. That yellow lines on his left arm shifted as well, morphing until blue replaced yellow and all he could see was the dragon tattoo instead of the yellow markings.

 

 

Hanzo did not move through all of this, but he was sweating and gasping through the process, looking like he was in pain.

 

 

Morrison took a deep breath, “We need to get Angela to find out what Talon did to him. Fast,”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry this update is a bit shorter than the others had been because i re-wrote most of them and i need to figure out the continuation. Why? Because 1. I recently got the okami skin (it's freaking awesome!!!), and i really, really want to incorporate it here somehow. Mind, though, this is not a werewolf!Hanzo or something of a similar route and trope, my justification is that this is what Talon had done to him as per what Angela found out early in the fic. Which, i guess, could most likely fall on the 'or similar route' category.
> 
> And 2, i got a bit of a different idea of how i want the whole Reaper76 sidepair work out (well, not exactly work out as in happily ever after work out, but, you get the idea). 
> 
> (It might be just me, but i felt so cheesy when writing their ult lines down (esp Reaper’s), but when i try to remove them, it just feels wrong…Idk, but I can’t be the only one who feels this)
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath, how everyone dealt with this new situation and Morrison's river ran deeper than the one in Egypt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a while, things started to get a bit hectic at my end. Hope you'll enjoy!

 

**PRESENT - GIBRALTAR WATCHPOINT**

 

 

“This is not just something i could do overnight, Jack,”

 

 

The only thing that even remotely looked bright about Angela at the moment was the wings strapped to her armour, but even them seemed sadly droopy compared to how they usually were. Her blonde hair seems oily, there are bags under her eyes, and while she always seemed younger than her age showed, today, she seemed like she aged 10 years with every word.

 

 

McCree felt guilty, as his operation had obviously been one of the source of her evident exhaustion, but he remained silent as he watched both Morrison and Angela. He didn’t know what is more overwhelming issue for him right now; his guilt over adding more work on top of all of the work Angela had to do recently, Morrison’s own wound that he seems to have forgotten in his concern for his team members - including Hanzo, apparently - or Hanzo’s own convoluting situation.

 

 

Suddenly, the three throbbing gunshot wounds on himself doesn’t seem too significant at all.

 

 

This room used to be an abandoned barrack, and considering the circumstances, it’s been appropriated to a temporary medbay. Angela’s stuff hadn’t survived between Reyes and his bullets and Genji’s blade, but some of the salvageable equipments and supplies were brought over, and two extra beds wer placed on the far side of the room for himself and Hanzo.

 

 

Hanzo, who had been wheeled in 2 hours ago, still unconscious looking like he had before he woke up as… whatever that was.

 

 

“I know, I’m not expecting a miracle, Angela, and i know you have a lot on your plate,” he pointedly turned to where McCree and Hanzo were, “But we at the very least needs to know what Talon has done to him, and if it might be a danger for him. Or us, for that matter,”

 

 

“There’s a lot of things to go through there, i can’t exactly do it on my own,”

 

 

“Then take whoever you need and i’ll assign it as an official mission. Winston, Satya, Mei, or anyone at all you’d think could help with this. Right now, finding out what Talon has done to Hanzo and reversing it is our top priority,” the white-haired man said in the air of finality. In front of him Angela sighed, before smiling slightly.

 

 

“Just because they all have the word ’scientist’ in their resume, doesn’t mean they have all knowledge in everything you deemed science, you know,” she pointed out, before the smile dropped into a firm line, “I’ll get back to you on that. Right now, i need to check on my patients, and we can talk about this more,”

 

 

Morrison nodded and left without any other word. As soon as his footsteps are out of hearing range, the doctor smiled again and sauntered to McCree’s bed, “‘ _Official mission_ ’. He can say that he’s not our leader anymore all he wanted, but sometimes, i think Jack himself forget that this isn’t the old Overwatch,”

 

 

“Eh, leadership’s in his blood,” McCree replied with and smile of his own, “You can take the man out of the leadership, but you can’t take the leadership out of the man,”

 

 

Angela chuckled, “Aptly put. Now,” once she is done clearing her throat, the playful persona is gone, as in front of McCree is now not Angela, his friend, but Dr. Ziegler, the doctor responsible for his health, “The good news is, since you’ve woken up, obviously you’re healing just fine and with enough rest, you’ll be back into action in no time, providing you’re actually listening to me,” she paused, eyeing his lap, before continuing, “And no cigarillos until you’re out of here,”

 

 

McCree grimaced, but nodded all the same. No point in arguing when she saved his life, “Right. What’s the bad news?”

 

 

The blonde woman turned somber and flicked her eyes at the person lying on the bed next to McCree’s. His smile dropped completely, as he slowly followed her eyes, “Right,”

 

 

He had been baffled yet relieved when Genji brought his brother in before joining Bastion in the chase for Reyes, looking back to how he looked before. Then the more he listened to Angela and Morrison’s conversation, the more the concern was back and he felt more than lost.

 

 

Dammit, he wanted to fling himself off from the bed and join the chase. After all these time, he managed to find Hanzo again, but of course, things aren’t that easy, are they? No, he had to learn that fucking Talon had done something incorrigible to his beloved, turning him into… whatever he is now.

 

 

Reyes’ words that insistently return to his mind does not help one bit.

 

 

“Jesse,” the cowboy turned at the sound of his name, and found Angela watching him with a concerned frown on her face, “It’ll be okay,” 

 

 

He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t think of any reply, so he looked away and sighed, running his flesh hand through his hair, “It was fucking terrifying to watch,”

 

 

“What was?”

 

 

The sight of Hanzo, held against Reyes’s body, suddenly opening his eyes. The sight of Hanzo suddenly convulsing, and for a moment he feared for the man’s life until everything became even more bizarre than they already were. His hair gradually turned white, fangs started to grow, how the white on his eyes was climbed by yellow and his pupils expanding as if it was exploding, the skin and tattoo on his arm rippling like it was burned before it turned to a different tattoo. But worst of all, it was the sound he made as the entire transformation happen. Hanzo sounded as if he was being ripped apart, like he is bursting from inside and out, and there is nothing McCree could do about it.

 

 

That would be the sight in his nightmare from now on, that, the sound and the fear he had deep inside that that would be how he would loose Hanzo once and for all.

 

 

A hand was put on his shoulder, and he allowed it, but he didn’t reply or show that he acknowledge it in any way. He didn’t think that anything, bar Hanzo’s own reassurance, could make him feel better.

 

 

Angela seems to notice this too, because the hand stopped, lingering for a moment before she excused herself. McCree didn’t move up until the door was closed, and when he did, he climbed down the bed, ignoring the stabbing pain on his chest, made his way to Hanzo’s bed.

 

 

Hanzo looked exactly as how he had been for the last couple of weeks; resting, but there’s telltale sign that he was not merely sleeping, like how his skin was back with it’s paleness, and how there are thin layer of sweat on his forehead. The younger man couldn’t stand the sight of it, so he grabbed the nearest fabric - his serape, hung on the side of his bed - and used it to wipe the sweat away. It didn’t make much difference, but at least there’s one less inconvenience for Hanzo.

 

 

Even if he wasn’t awake to feel it.

 

 

At least he doesn’t look like he was in pain this time; he looked peaceful, like he always was when he was sleeping. 

 

 

Biting the insides of his lips, the cowboy leaned in, and pressed a gentle peck on the now dry skin of Hanzo’s forehead. It felt clammy, unlike how surprisingly soft it always was and it felt so wrong, “God, Han,” he sniffed, pressing his forehead against’s Hanzo’s and stared deeply to closed eyelids, “We’re gonna fix this, you hear me? We’ll find a way, you got the whole team working hard for your sake, darlin’, so you hang in there for us,”

 

 

He found Hanzo’s hand in his own, and gripped it, stroking the skin of the limp fingers. Hanzo always told him that this gesture made him feel better. Even if he wasn’t awake, McCree liked to think that he can feel this, “We’ll find a way, and i’m gonna be there for you. I ain’t leavin’ no more, darlin’. _You_ ain’t leavin’ me no more. You gotta track record for doin’ that, you know?” he chuckled, and he really wished Hanzo could reply now.

 

 

“Then, when this is all over, we’re gonna have our own place here. I never told you, but i kinda burn our last one,” he moved his hand from Hanzo’s to the older’s forearm, rubbing gently. At this point, the wound on his chest is starting to burn from the pressure, but he made no move to ease that. Unlike the medbay, there are no chair around here, and McCree’s not leaving anywhere, “You’ll probably be mad at me for that, but for now, we can talk about it later. We got our own place here now, anyway, did i mention that?”

 

 

He kept talking. Of their past, of what kind of future they’ll have in Overwatch and hey, you really should say yes, of what they can do once Hanzo’s awake and alright, about how things used to be, anything, anything at all that came into his mind, until his tongue felt thick, his eyes got drowsy again and blood started seeping pass his gauze and staining his shirt.

 

 

Jesse McCree talked and talked, and talked, because at least the sound of his voice is a lot better than this silence he couldn’t stand anymore.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**7 YEARS AGO -  BALI, INDONESIA**

 

 

With the latest target eliminated and bounty collected, they should’ve packed up and be on their way to their next destination to avoid suspicion. But their flight has been cancelled due to the bad weather, so both had no choice but to pick a hotel - somewhere far from their previous one - to stay for the night.

 

 

“Shame,” McCree quipped as they walked through the corridor led by an omnic dressed in what seems to be the place’s traditional garb, “’s been a while since we go to a tourist island. Could’ve gone sunbathing,”

 

 

“That would require staying longer here, something we could not afford,” because the henchmen of their target is openly looking for them, and they had another job lined up that’s unfortunately time sensitive. Even this delay would cost them dearly if they can’t compensate. Of course, it’s not like Hanzo could say that out loud with their guide in front of them. 

 

 

“That’s why i say ‘shame’,” the cowboy replied, looking down to the massive window that has been placed along the hallway. The place wasn’t anything special - it was the first place they found as soon as they exited the airport - but like the previous place they stayed in, the architecture was deliberately arranged to let guest see the view outside. Below them they could see the road, and just over the road was a vast beach. Human and omnic alike mingled, just like the staff in this place.

 

 

Their omnic guide turned, and while his face is passive in default, McCree could hear the smile in his voice, “You should come back again next time, dear guest,” he spoke in a non-accented tone, unlike most of the human staff. It must be his programming, “Preferably on a tourist season. There are plenty to see in our beautiful island,”

 

 

When he turned around again, McCree shot a grin to Hanzo, who gave him a dry glare.

 

 

When they almost reached their room, the cowboy caught side of a crowd, walking together in line with a group in the middle carrying some sort of a statue in the middle, “What’s that?”

 

 

Both Hanzo and the omnic turned, peering won through the window, “Ah, that would be a funeral service,” he explained, 

 

 

McCree whistled, “That’s a mighty big fanfare for a funeral,” 

 

 

“Yes, in Bali, funeral is not a sorrowful occasion, it is one of joy for the human living here. Us omnics do not quite understand it ourselves, but i believe they see death as a temporary separation instead of a permanent one,”

 

 

Hanzo frowned, and there was something sorrowful in the way he took in the marching crowd. The omnic doesn’t seem to register this, as he continued, “Inside of the statue is where they kept the body, and they are carrying it to the cremation site. By burning the body, they believe that this help the soul to escape the body, and to continue to their next life, or to ascend to a state of completion in the afterlife,”

 

 

It’s a pretty interesting fact, and usually the cowboy liked to collect them in case that one day he gets to meet his old buddies again and he knew how much Winston and Angela loves random facts. But there was something in Hanzo’s expression that made him miss out on half of what the omnic was saying, and instead ask in an uncharacteristically gentle voice, “You okay there?”

 

 

His partner didn’t look like he was listening, “A temporary death,” he mumbled, loud enough for them to hear, but it didn’t seems to be directed to them, “What a familiar concept,”

 

 

“Hanzo?”

 

 

The omnic tilted his head, like a humanoid gesture of pondering, “It is a rather widespread belief. And people in Bali are quite superstitious, with reincarnation as one of them. However, as omnics, we do not share the same sentiment with humans about the concept of life and death,” he clasped his hand together, and bowed, “i would be happy to answer any of your question, but for now, i believe we must make our way to your designated room,” with that the omnic continued his trek. McCree watched him leave, and tries to call for Hanzo again.

 

 

Again, Hanzo either didn’t hear him, or he blatantly ignored him. And McCree has been around him long enough to know when the older man made a point of ignoring him. This isn’t one of those moments. Eventually the omnic guide led them to their room and left with a bow. McCree took in the room, a small bedroom with two bed - shame, but Hanzo insisted - a large window half the room still overlooking the street and beach with a small bathroom near the entrance. 

 

 

“So,” he began, watching his partner’s every move. The japanese man started taking off his arsenal, first his bow and quiver - placed inside of a musical instruments bag to avoid suspicion - then his sake gourd, the scarf tied around his hair and finally his sandals. He looked like he was moving on autopilot instead of it being something he’s doing consciously, “What was that all about?”

 

 

Putting his stuff away neatly - unlike McCree, who tossed his stuff on the floor and let the future him deal with the mess - Hanzo ran a hand through his hair and picked up the sake gourd, “I do not know what you speak of,” he replied, and oh, he want to play that game, huh?

 

 

McCree stared at the back of his head. Taking off his shirt, the younger man ran a hand along his torso, from his stomach to his chest, “Yeah, right. Whats with the question earlier? Didn’t realize you’re a religious person,”

 

 

“I do not believe in anything, and certainly not in second chances,” Hanzo paused to take a long swig of his home country’s liquor, and huffs, “Do not concern yourself of it, McCree, it was merely a curiosity of mine,”

 

 

He knew right of the bat it was a lie, but he’s not gonna talk about it, McCree’s not gonna push. He’s not that kind of guy. 

 

 

They didn’t dare to go outside, so dinner comes from the room service. McCree hated being cooped up, too; the television hardly has any foreign channel, most of the ones that didn’t have crapy reception was in a language he couldn’t speak, and Hanzo was being less fun than he usually was. He barely spoke once since they got in, only twice to ask if McCree want to shower first - he doesn’t - and to tell him what he wanted for dinner - he left it up to McCree to decide - and the rest of the time he stared out on the window, looking down to the street as if he was waiting for the crowd to come back.

 

 

It reached the peek during dinner time, when McCree settled for a channel that only broadcast cartoons. It was a reboot of a really old, like 50 to 60 years ago old cartoon, a small dog who lived with an elderly couple, found himself often being haunted by all sorts of ghost and demon hellbent in taking or killing his owners. Creepy scenes and scenario enfolds, and before long he found himself laughing at every absurdity. 

 

 

“Ooh, i remember this one,” he said when the program ends and the next one plays, the intro looked distantly familiar until he figured it out, “You know Reinhardt? The old guy from back when i was in Overwatch? So, he’s really into showin’ me stuff from his childhood, right, and he told me that this is his favorite show,” 

 

 

“Back in my days, it was all 2D animations. We don’t have all of these holograms and 3D TVs, and it was scary enough for us! Why, i become a real man once i can watch one episode and didn’t cry or become scared until the very end!” The cartoon’s story had been bizarre to McCree at first: about a grim reaper who took care of two human children. It was even more mind boggling to imagine how televisions must be back in Reinhardt’s time; flat, no screen touch, and apparently they had to change the channel by remote. What if they loose the remote? Older times were wild, he could tell.

 

 

He told this to Hanzo, who was looking down to his plate of fried noodle - barely eaten, mostly pushed around the plate - and didn’t reply. In fact, he didn’t even look like he noticed McCree had been talking that long. The mood was awkward, and the cowboy’s smile dropped as he cleared his throat, “Hey, uh, you wanna talk about it?”

 

 

Hanzo shifted slightly, his eyes looking at him from under the long tresses of his hair. McCree always wanted to ask why he cut his hair shorter instead of keeping it long like the way he had it when they first met, but the last time he asked, Hanzo looked so upset, as in he looked rather distraught for someone who was asked a simple question. McCree had immediately changed the question then, but the curiousity never left him. 

 

 

The older man sighed, putting his plate away on the bed next to him, “Have you— Do you— Do you think it is wrong to receive forgiveness when you know you do not deserve it?”

 

 

McCree had his mouth open, hands holding on to a half eaten cheeseburger, a piece of meat stuck to his beard, his mouth oily and stained with tomato sauce. He is in no position to be ready for a question that heavy.

 

 

“Uh,” he answered intelligently, “No?”

 

 

Hanzo kept on staring at him like he wanted him to elaborate. Great, a whole day of silence and he just drops a bomb full of questions McCree never bothered thinking about, “I mean, uh, you know, it’s never wrong to receive something— wait, no, uh,” he cleared his throat and put his plate away, clasping his oily hands together. Even in a distraught state, Hanzo still managed to give him a disgusted look, “Well, if the person you think wronged you kinda gave you the green light, don’t you think you should’ve felt relieved they’re fine with it instead of blaming you?”

 

 

“I would be much more happier if he hates me,”

 

 

Okay. This is definitely not something he is ready to deal with. Hanzo rarely, if ever made any allusion to his past, but the few, very few times he did, McCree could tell that it’s a fucked up story. He always looked weirdly torn about it, like someone who couldn’t make up his mind about something and always trying to figure something out.

 

 

He wondered sometimes, if he ever found out about the whole story, would it be as convoluted as the man himself?

 

 

“You don’t mean that,”

 

 

“You do not know me,”

 

 

Yeah, but not from the lack of trying. McCree sighed, and scratched his beard with his pinky - the only part of his hand that’s the least oily, “Well, other way to look at it, i guess, won’t you be disrespecting them too? I mean if i forgive someone for something, it’s usually because i didn’t think it’s a big deal to be sorry about or because i don’t think they really mean it,” not that he had much encounter with such; most of the time everything that happens to him is deliberate, most of them being an attempt on his life, “Or sometimes, maybe i see someone beating themselves over it enough, i just can’t hold the grudge no more. Either way, i don’t want it to be an issue anymore, so i won’t appreciate it if that person keeps on bringing it up,”

 

 

Hanzo stared at him, seemingly muling his words, until he scoffed, though there was no real malice behind it, “You are quite the simple minded fool,” his gaze soften, and while his eyes might be looking at McCree, he cowboy could tell he’s seeing something beyond, something far away from even this hotel room. And then, he smiled, and McCree felt like he’s having a cardiac arrest,  “Then again, you and he might not be all too different,”

 

 

It didn’t occur to him then that he had a chance to ask and know more about Hanzo by asking who that ‘he’ was, but his mind was only occupied by the fact that Hanzo is smiling. Damn, McCree thought, unaware that his mouth is hanging open and he’s blinking owlishly, much to Hanzo’s confusion, that’s a good look on him. 

 

 

He had known for a while now that what he felt for Hanzo was not appreciation for an exquisite beauty anymore. No, that stopped long ago, after the nth time they saved each other’s life and started to develop trust that even when he had his back turned, he’ll be fine. Theirs is not an easy relationship to build, despite how nonchalant McCree had acted when he first proposed the partnership, due to their respective past and personalities.

 

 

They make their partnership work; but McCree couldn’t help but to want something more.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**PRESENT - GIBRALTAR WATCHPOINT**

 

 

Angela finally selected her research team and Morrison alerted them of this update - Winston and Zenyatta hadn’t minded the slightest after the summon came, and soon they locked themselves in Torbjorn’s laboratory, working along with the Swedish man to find what Talon had done to Hanzo.

 

 

(“Zenyatta? Angela, he’s a monk,”

 

 

“Who is also a good researcher and is pretty knowledgeable. I told you Jack, just because they have scientist in somewhere in their job description doesn’t mean they could help. Plus, Genji follows him anywhere and he’s been pretty agitated about this situation. I’m sure he’ll appreciate being able to help his brother in any way,”)

 

 

Of course, even with the cloud of uncertainty over them, life has to go on. They have mission to take, scoutings to be done, intelligence to be searched and he’s delegating them all evenly. It kept him busy, and a busy mind kept him from thinking too much about too many things. 

 

 

Like what would happen if it turns out the experiment is dangerous and they had to do something about Hanzo. Or if it’ll kill Hanzo. What would he tell McCree and Genji. About decisions to be make that no doubt will be given to him - he’s not a leader anymore, but everyone seems to forget that - the things he will have to do. About Reaper.

 

 

God, he hated thinking about Reaper.

 

 

“Jack,”

 

 

The familiar voice made him turn, to see one eye staring at him and a friendly, motherly smile blessed upon him, “Ana,”

 

 

The old woman had been the last to arrive during Reyes’ attack, and when she heard of what happened to McCree, she had looked so distraught and angry, like a scorned mother. Morrison can understand, in a way; she had been the one who raised McCree - as in actually be a parental figure to him, unlike Reyes and him, who trained the boy as a soldier and an agent, and later, a comrade. They hadn’t see the point in babying him considering who he was and with life in Overwatch, but Ana had strongly disagreed. 

 

 

Maybe that’s also why the younger members in the old Overwatch tends to flutter to her side; they’ll still seek him for leadership, but Ana is mother.

 

 

“On your way to visit McCree?”

 

 

“Just got back from there actually,” she replied, as she began to fall in step with him, “Then i kinda saw something i shouldn’t, and i decided to come back later,”

 

 

Morrison frowned behind his visor, trying to make sense of what she’s saying, “Hanzo’s still unconscious, right? Pretty sure Angela will tell me if he’s up,”

 

 

Ana gave him an incredulous look, and there’s a twinkle in her eye, “Jack Morrison! Sexual proclivities aren’t the only thing you shouldn’t interrupt, you know! And yes, he is, and don’t worry, i raised Jesse better than that,”

 

 

“I didn’t say they’re doing that,” 

 

 

“You’re blushing,”

 

 

You can’t even see my face,”

 

 

“You ears also turned red when you’re blushing, not just your face. Don’t try to fool me, Jack,”

 

 

He quickened his steps, Ana laughed as she followed suit.

 

 

Ana followed him for the rest of the days, and Morrison never asked why or even stopped her. They split up the work of assigning members to missions, contact the members already on the field - usually Winston’s job but he’s also preoccupied - and by the end of the day, when everything’s done exactly to his satisfaction, he told Ana, “Let’s go to the medbay again,” 

 

 

She agreed without a word.

 

 

“Made you miss the olden days, doesn’t it?” she quipped on their way, her long robe swishing underneath her feet. Morrison gave the watchpoint a quick glance, and once he deemed that nobody is nearby, took off his visor.

 

 

“It’s quieter than the olden days,” he told her, voice much more clearer without an object covering his mouth, “There used to be more of us. And most of them had proper army or equivalent level of training. What do we have now?” he lifted a finger, and started counting, “A professional gamer, a DJ freedom fighter, 2 wanted men from down under, an employee of Vishkar, a bodybuilder, two omnics - the very reason Overwatch was first build, the irony - and one, probably soon to be two sons of a yakuza clan,”

 

 

Ana laughed, a cheerful and youthful sound that made him smile, “Oh, now you’re being unfair. Back then we have our own misfits, and i can say the same about you! The old Overwatch used to have a farmer from Indiana,” 

 

 

Morrison laughed, “It’s a ranch, not a farm. There’s a difference. I get to deal with a rowdy bunch of cows and sheep too,” 

 

 

“And then you upgraded to a rowdy bunch of humans. Twice,”

 

 

The white-haired man chuckled, “Yeah. Didn’t want it the second time, not after— not after the first,” his smile dimmed, but he quickly shake it away before Ana can see it. She probably has, but as long as the Egyptian woman doesn’t mention it, he could at least pretend, “But they all keep forgetting. I want to remind them sometimes, but, i don’t have the heart to,”

 

 

“I think they all remember, Jack,” Ana told him gently, placing a hand on his shoulder, “They just didn’t really care,”

 

 

She had a point. Morrison shook his head with a fond sigh, “After the fiasco in Switzerland, i didn’t dare to think that this could happen again,” he told her wistfully, “I didn’t imagine most of them wanting to be back, didn’t expect to find Winston calling us back, and i certainly didn’t expect to see some people i was sure was gone from my life back,” he gave her a full once over, before sighing with a tight smile, “some of them more than others,”

 

 

“Oh, Jack,” 

 

 

Morrison shook his head, and Ana seems to get the hint because she kept on walking. 

 

 

The rest of the walk was quiet, and so is Jack Morrison’s mind.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You know Angela will flay you alive if she found out you got out of bed, right?”

 

 

Morrison knew that the second Ana placed a finger on her lip and had him stop before the slightly ajar door of the medbay, she had a plan in her mind and she didn’t care if the recipient of said plan was injured. He’s not going to be the one to stop her, he knew better.

 

 

And beside, watching McCree physically jump with a deer-caught-in-headlight expression on his face was as precious as gold.

 

 

“Ana!” he exclaimed, both in joy and in annoyance, a combination of expression only a ‘child’ of Ana Amari could perfectly execute, whether you’re adopted or not. Actually, not even Angela or McCree could beat Fareeha’s but then again, it’s no contest, “didn’t hear you come in,”

 

 

“It’d be a million year before you can catch me, Jesse,” the woman laughed, entering the room and giving enough space for Morrison to walk as well, “Good to see you’re up and about already,”

 

 

The cowboy sheepishly rubbed his nape, “Ah, she might’ve done that already. Gave me a nice big shiner - with her staff to boot - but she gave me an okay as long as i sat down instead of standing,”

 

 

Upon closer inspection, there is a chair right behind him, but considering they both found him standing, he didn’t exactly followed her rule. He offered said chair to Morrison, who declined and stood on the end of Hanzo’s bed instead, and to Ana, who smacked him and physically dragged him down to sit on the chair, much to the 37 years old’s whining that he’s fine.

 

 

As the two began to bicker, Morrison began to observe. McCree didn’t look half bad, at least, a lot better than he had lying on the pool of his own blood - the thought of it still make him shudder, how close they had been to loosing one of their own - and whenever he raised his arms, the loose shirt he wore would ride up to show the heavy bandages underneath. It seems relatively new.

 

 

Hanzo, Hanzo is a different story.

 

 

The veteran couldn’t get that image out of his mind, how this man he has yet to encounter fully conscious had turned into something less like a human, moved like no human can and that power; that power that struck him down had been Hanzo’s doing, no doubt about it.

 

 

He had seen Genji in action, and the first time he saw the famed ‘Shimada Dragon’ in action, he had been awed to the point of stopping in his track. That beautiful green surge of energy that seems to appear out of thin air and into Genji’s sword, mowing down everything in his track and deflecting everything threatening to harm their master. He had been untrained then, but even Reyes had his doubts in training him, tapping into this new power they had never seen before.

 

 

Then suddenly Genji came and told them he had a brother with more power then him, and Morrison gets the privileged to feel that first hand.

 

 

And Talon had gotten their hands on that power.

 

 

Maybe Angela had a point; Genji would be mighty helpful in their mission.

 

 

The ruckus had died down, and he curiously looked up. Ana had a hand on McCree’s shoulder, rubbing up and down as her honorary son spoke gently, the joy in his eyes long gone and a sorrowful one had replaced it. He looked like a completely different man from what he was a while ago.

 

 

“—lost him. But i did. And the worst thing about it was that i kept on blaming myself even if i have the proof that he did it all on his own,” sighing despondently, the man rubbed his metal hand down his faces, “I don’t get why he did it, why he thought he had to sacrifice himself for what he thought was something i needed when i’m starting to come to terms that i need him more than, than my sense of nostalgia for the glory days, you know?”

 

 

Ana pressed her lips thin, and McCree hadn’t struggled when she pulled him to lean on her chest, “Sounds like you both have a lot to talk about,”

 

 

“I never understood him, Ana. Sometimes, just when i thought i did, he would just blow my mind by doing something else. Usually i wouldn’t mind but,” he shook his head, burying deeper to the older woman’s chest, “I spent the entire year just thinking what could i have done different,”

 

 

From the corner of his eyes, Morrison could see that at some point in their conversation, McCree had snuck his hand in Hanzo’s, pale against tan, McCree’s dwarfing Hanzo’s strangely delicate and scar riddled one. It seemed so personal, and even if he had not said a peep, Morrison felt like intruding.

 

 

Maybe Ana had had been talking about a similar scene before.

 

 

Ana and McCree talked a bit more about a different topic - something Morrison missed out and purposefully tuned out - before he followed the mother of one outside. He gave McCree a light squeeze on the shoulder - which the man answered with a muttered ‘thanks, pardner’ in thick accent - as he left.

 

 

Ana leaned against the door when he closed it and he could feel the tension from her, “Damn Talon,” she mumbled, “Damn Gabe. Why do they have to make things so complicated,”

 

 

“To be fair, they’re probably targeting Hanzo because of Genji,” he told her, fishing out his visor to put them back. He should get back to work soon, get reports, all the likes, “just as how they targeted Amelie because of Gerard,”

 

 

“Is that what you think happened before? With Lacroix?”

 

 

“Nothing i can prove,” he told her truthfully, “But i’ve read the folder,” time, and time, and time, until it become too many time and he could recite the whole thing front to back.

 

 

His old comrade hummed thoughtfully, and gave him a side glance with her one eye, “Yeah, i bet you have,”

 

 

He’ll pretend he doesn’t hear that.

 

 

While McCree still retain the explosive temper he had as a young man, Ana had known him long, known him well, and she is a master in battle strategy on par with himself and Reyes. She often implement them in real life, something he always hated being a subject to.

 

 

She never said anything, unlike McCree’s loud disagreement, but he knows she held the same opinion as her unofficial son. They thought him wasting his time, think he was letting his feeling cloud his judgement, all the likes. He wanted to them challenge him then, to prove that he’s not just thinking about every possibility. They have an actual proof in Amelie Lacroix, and they know damn well Reyes had been in the hands of Talon as well.

 

 

It’s not like he’s saying he didn’t believe that Reyes is capable of all of this on his own - he knows he is, Morrison knew him better than anyone, even though evidently it was not enough in the end - but he never leave a man behind, that was it. If he closed his mind now to the possibility that Reyes had been tampered as well, he might loose a valuable comrade.

 

 

That was all there is, he swore that was all there is.

 

 

(Or not. Maybe, deep, deep down, deep where he locked that optimistic blonde man without a single drop of bitterness or taint in him, there is another reason. It should’ve died with Switzerland, died with tan skin and secret smiles and even more secret touch, died with the possibility of what could have been.

 

 

It should’ve died. But it didn’t.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Angela was starting to think that low key bringing Genji in to this research group is a bad decision.

 

 

“Calm down now, my student. Remember your training—“

 

 

“My deepest apologies, Master, and any other time i will follow your words, but right now i could not and i would not! This— Did you read the same thing as i did?! My brother, everything they did to him— As if he was some common animal!”

 

 

“I agree that it’s horrible, Genji,” Winston, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation, after the 3rd time in the span of 45 minutes Genji had interrupted them. Behind him the monitor was doing an automatic calculation, the bar not even yet close to being half of it, “And trust me, i understand you’re infuriated, but right now, we need to focus and find out what is it that they did to genetically engineer him into— that,”

 

 

“I—!” The youngest - baring Zenyatta’s real age - in the room stuttered, before he plopped down back to his chair like a petulant child. And angry, homicidal petulant child, “Right. Right. We focus on— on finding out what they had done— right,”

 

 

Angela, Zenyatta and Winston looked at each other on top of Genji’s head, “You know what,” the only female in the room interjected, “This has been a long day and i’m exhausted. I will get some shut eye after i check on McCree and Hanzo again. We can continue this tomorrow,”

 

 

Winston murmured his agreement and muttered something about Lena and where she put his peanut butter jar, before following the German woman out from the room. This leaves Zenyatta and Genji in the room, surrounded by papers, monitors and notes after notes stacked high of their every finding. The omnic brought his hand together, laying them flat against each other, “Genji, we shall do our evening meditation before dinner time,”

 

 

Genji lowered his head, “I—“

 

 

“Please, do not fight me in this, Genji. I have told you many times that a tired body and a tired mind will not bode any good result. You have exhaust yourself, not only physically but mentally,”

 

 

“I know, Master. I held your teaching close to my heart,” the cyborg emitted, “but i cannot. I just got my brother back, Master. Hanzo and i have never quite seen eye to eye to a lot of things in the past, but i am determined to change that. But, but now! I don’t know what is happening to my brother! I could not help him, i could not talk to him, maybe i would never be able to!”

 

 

“Genji, i know you are afraid—“

 

 

“I am not simply afraid, Master, i am terrified, furious, all of them rolled into one! I might not be able to settle the past with him, i might not be able to show him what i meant, and this scares me beyond belief! I know you mean well and i am grateful you thought of my well being, Master Zenyatta, but i wish to do this on my own,”

 

 

Omnics doesn’t breath, it didn’t even have a program to simulate one, but Genji could’ve sworn Zenyatta just sighed, “And what is it that you can do, exactly?”

 

 

The cyborg stuttered, hand still deeply grasping the documents Angela had wanted him to see. It was details and side notes the scientist at Talon had made of Hanzo’s unusual predicament, mainly the supernatural power he held that is the Shimada Dragon. All detail of every experiment they had thought of was there, every torture his brother endure, everything, “I do not know. But there must be something!”

 

 

“And what if there is nothing and you waste your energy? Energy that could be stored and used to actually do something useful?”

 

 

Maybe it was the stress - they had been working over 12 hours with no break, after all - or maybe it was Zenyatta’s unusually harsh wording, but Genji stood up, slammed his hand to the table and glared behind his mask “Are you implying i am not useful here, Master?!”

 

 

“You are taking my words out of context, Genji,”

 

 

“Am i? I know i am not as smart as Angela and Winston, or as wise as you, but i am here because i am determined to save my brother! How would you feel like if your brother is in danger and—“

 

 

The accusing finger Genji had pointed towards the floating omnic slowly lowered, shaking as they go. He stuttered, as his own words began to register in his own mind, and when it did, he leaned back to the table, before taking up a seiza pose, right down in front of Zenyatta, “Master, i deeply apologize. I do not mean to— I do not know what came over me,”

 

 

Above him Zenyatta floated low, low enough to be able to reach Genji, “This is what i speak of, Genji, my dear student. Now come, there is no need for this,” he patted the cyborg’s head, and gave him a hand as he stood up. Genji didn’t fight it, even if they both know he doesn’t need it, “I understand that your brother is important to you. And believe me, i wanted nothing but to help in the endeavour for his condition, and help you to get the peace you needed from him. However,” he raised one of his hand, and placed it on top of Genji’s head, metal against metal, “I would not be able to do this if you fight me all the way through,”

 

 

Genji took a deep breath, his machination hissing along with him, “I apologize a thousand more apologies, Master,”

 

 

“And yet, there is no need for that. I have dealt with you at your worst, and i can say with confidence that this is not it,” the monk patted his head, the contact making an empty and echoing ‘clank, clank’ on his head, “Now come, let us do our evening mediation, and after dinner we can visit your brother and Mr. McCree before it is time to rest,”

 

 

As Zenyatta guided his student out, they both missed the beeping on Winston’s monitor, displaying a bolded words of ‘Matching DNA found’.

 

 

The screen flickered, and an image of a large lupine took up the monitor, staring down aggressively to the empty room.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hopefully this'll kicks of the vibe of how the next few chapters will be. If the story really will be done by then; i have a track record of extending things pass my own control.
> 
> And quick note about the ritual, while i may come from the same region (well, same country anyway) i do not have an extensive knowledge in them and research could sometimes be misleading. Some detail might be wrong, so if anyone does spot a mistake, please don't hesitate to correct me and i'll fix it immediately.
> 
> And the cliffhanger is something everyone already knows! 
> 
> So, thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Good, bad? I haven't written anything in almost years, i think i'm getting rusty. And this website is pretty new to me so...
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


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